


BugStomp (Working Title)

by Voxynqueen



Category: Alien (1979), Alien Series, Aliens (1986)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5782639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voxynqueen/pseuds/Voxynqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Aliens movie from two different POVs - trying to beef up the fan-service a bit; adding a touch more interaction, a dash more tension, and eventually a not so subtle flirt or two (eventual Hicks/Ripley).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrvial

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always wanted to write my own version of what happened after Aliens (negating Alien 3 and Resurrection). One week ago, after throwing the Aliens dvd into the player during an 80’s movie night, I got in the mood to go ahead and try. Never written this kind of thing before, so decided to do some research and play around first.
> 
> After reading the novelization of Aliens that same night, I was extremely disappointed. Apart from slightly more dialogue and a little bit more description, it felt to me as if I was reading a movie script. The reason, IMHO, is that the novelization of a film should add loads more to a story you already love, otherwise what’s the point?
> 
> Any I started writing some character expositions and rewriting some of the scenes, adding what many will consider pure fan service, to help me feel more comfortable about writing for these amazing characters, and provide a more complete character history.
> 
> Then stopped after three days of no sleep to realise I’d rewritten half the movie. Admittedly, most of it is garbage but I’m hoping some people might help me out – pointing out anything that might be okay and give constructive advice on everything they think sucks.
> 
> The hardest part has been trying to remain true to character. I have rewritten the same scenes and dialogue sometimes five times over. This has to be one of the more challenging things I’ve done and I still ain’t close.
> 
> PS: In creating a more thorough character history, I did take a creative licence. 
> 
> PPS: I don't know anything about anyone's military - Aust, US, British, none. So please don't take offence, 'cause no offence intended.

The private who escorted her through the military wing of Gateway Station was the chatty type. Ripley didn’t overly warm to chatty people. 

This one was the same as any of the dozens of soldiers walking around them, going about their duties whatever that may be. Neat, cut, and proud.

But this one didn’t seem to need to breathe. In the few minutes since ordered to escort Ripley to Sulaco’s airlock, he had not once paused for her to respond. The private told her of United States Colonial Marines’ long standing history with the Gateway Station Command, the number of military personnel posted to Gateway, the history of the USS Sulaco -

At least with his unwillingness to draw breath, there was no need for her to answer.

Or really listen.

“Ma’am?”

Ripley stopped and found the private was standing behind her. Her inattention had caused her to completely miss their turn down the last corridor. 

“Sorry, private, guess I’m not on Gateways’ time,” she lied.

“Perfectly understandable, ma’am. Please, this way, ma’am,” he said with the usual military overabundance of politeness, gesturing down the corridor.

Ripley reset her bag on her shoulder and followed. They walked along the corridor then around the sweeping bend and it suddenly occurred to Ripley they moved in silence.

The private must have realised she wasn’t listening to him, despite what she’d said about not being on the Station’s clock. She felt small twinge of guilt and opened her mouth to say something-

“Here,” he pointed and stopped at the airlock just to the right. 

“Right, ma’am,” he keyed the pad and the door opened, “just through here is the Sulaco.” He waved her through first.

Ripley smiled in polite response, then moved through the airlock door and into the retractable sleeve connecting the ship to the station. 

Immediately Ripley felt eyes on her and not the private’s. 

Looking down the sleeve towards the second airlock, Ripley came across the most intense eyes she had ever seen. Their owner was a marine, a very handsome marine, standing at the Sulaco’s airlock in marine fatigues and a cigarette in his fingers. 

He was obviously waiting for them, standing all rigid and unmoving; the only thing that moved was his hand, bringing his cigarette up to his lips. This was undoubtedly the next escort and she wondered if Burke had to go through the same treatment. Military didn’t like civilians wandering around their bases unescorted.

Ripley found being escorted somewhat belittling but was nothing compared to the unease of being under such scrutiny. The intensity of this one’s gaze alone was intimidating enough to put her on edge.

Nor did she revel in the stares of beautiful men. Alex, Ripley’s husband, had been beautiful and experience had shown they all the same; flashy with little or no substance, talking big delivering small. Fickle, undependable, untrustworthy.

“Identification?” the beautiful marine asked crisply.

Ripley held out her brand new Company ID, clearly identifying her as LTFC Ripley.

Those iridescent eyes scanned it, handed it back then looked to her escort, “That’ll be all, private.”

“Yes, corporal.”

He stepped back to allow her through the lock and into the USS Sulaco, “Please follow me.” 

Not one more word was spoken and Ripley followed the marine corporal through the length of the old but well maintained ship. The Nostromo, her old ship, had been so much older, dank, and dark in comparison to the Sulaco. Ripley amused herself thinking how exciting it would be to take the helm of such a craft.

The marine, upon delivering her to Lieutenant Gorman, left without further word.

“Ah Ripley, welcome to the Sulaco.”

*

A while later, the marines gathered in front of the stasis pods, many of them loud, laughing, joking. Each man was half naked, wearing only military issue shorts and the women the same but with the addition of a tank-top in preparation for hypersleep. 

Gorman chose that moment to quieten them down and introduce them to their civilian counterparts for the mission. 

“This is Mr Burke, he is with the Company. And this is Ms Ripley, who is here as consultant for the mission. Apone?”

Sergeant Apone nodded, not even a bit awkward appearing half naked in front of strangers.

He gave her and Burke their rank and name as he pointed to them. None of them nodded or offered any greeting; each of them staring at her and Burke with a cold detachment.

She could imagine how often their tight knit unit was invaded by company reps, interfering in their jobs with concerns about company assets. They had no reason to like her and that was okay. She had only to complete this mission and she would have her life back.

She didn’t need them to like her for that.

However, she did try to take the time and imprint their faces, their names. After all, it was to be these marines who would stand between her and any possible xenomorphs. Knowing their names was the least she could do.

Like Apone, none of them were shy being introduced, and each of them looked bored. When Apone pointed to the corporal from the airlock, he was as rigid and unmoving as he had been earlier. He looked from Burke to her with no reaction, just the same cold detachment. Apone told them: He was their senior corporal, second NCO and leader of the second squad. His name was Hicks.

Apone finished the rest of their names and then ordered them into their pods. His order was met with more raucous behaviour as they fell out, and Ripley couldn’t fail to notice that Corporal Hicks didn’t move away towards the pods with the others. He stood still, his eyes not moving from the civilians standing with his CO. 

Quietly, he waited for others to move away then walked over. For a moment she was sure he was coming to her, but instead he went to Apone and the both of them started talking quietly.

“Well, I guess we’ll need to get ready for bed too,” Burke said from her side. “Ah, Lieutenant, I assume we have one of those pods too?”

“Ah, yes,” Gorman confirmed, then raised his voice, “Apone!”

Apone and Hicks immediately stopped talking, snapping around to face their Lieutenant. “Yes, sir?” Apone asked crisply.

“You have pods set up for our guests?”

Apone seemed blink, only for the briefest moment and Ripley got the impression Gorman had asked an unnecessary question. “Yes, sir.” He looked to Hicks, “Which pods?”

“Thirteen and fourteen, sir,” Hicks answered to the lieutenant, his voice low but clear.

“Very well,” Gorman clipped, “Well, what are you waiting for? Report to your pods. We’ve got a mission to complete.”

Both Apone and Hicks didn’t blink. “Yes, Lieutenant,” Apone replied automatically and both men departed without pause. 

Gorman must have seen the question on Ripley’s face as she watched both of them go, and answered with a definite touch of contempt, “They’ll have plenty of opportunity for a chit-chat upon arrival. Even the NCO’s need a reminder in discipline every so often, Ripley.”

Ripley would’ve normally agreed, but neither Apone nor Hicks seemed to be lacking in discipline. But then again, she wasn’t a soldier. What would she know?

She headed towards the lockers and when she had changed she found many of the marines had already been sealed in their pods. She saw Apone laid out in his already frozen. Next to him was Hicks’ pod, with the much younger man sliding in lithely. 

He saw her walking passed and held her gaze for a moment then laid down, the pod closing quickly behind him.

Ripley met Burke at end of the line of pods with the Company man looking a little bit lost.

“I sure hope you know how to program these things, Ripley. I assumed someone was going to come over to help.”

“They’ve already been programmed for us. You just get in,” Ripley told him, gesturing for him to get in. She didn’t wait for Burke and slid into her pod, watching the arm lowering to seal her in, wishing she was anywhere but going back to LV-426. “Sleep well, Burke.”

 


	2. Sulaco Wakes Up

0000

 

Hicks woke from stasis as he always did; slow, groggy, dying for a smoke.

Pulling himself up to sit, he cocked his head to stretch and loosen stiff muscles. Rubbing his face helped too; anything to get the blood circulating and the fog out of his brain.

“Hey, Hicks. Man, you look just how I feel.”

Hicks looked over at Drake. He could’ve told him the same. He didn’t.

Instead he tugged himself up and out of the pod. He’d been through the shit side of space travel so many times he knew the only way to get over it was to get moving. That and coffee. And chow. And at least two smokes.

“All right, sweethearts. What are you waiting for? Breakfast in bed?”

Hicks brushed past Apone who winked at him. Apone loved his job. He had a real zeal for it.

Hicks was happy enough to be second NCO, and having Apone running the show these days. He’d had his fill of command and dealing directly with CO’s. The ambitions which once drove him were long gone. Now all Hicks wanted was to do his job and leave all the bullshit to others.

Leaving Apone to yank the others up and into action, he went his locker to dress.

“We got some slack coming, right?”

Hicks shook his head and spoke without looking to the speaker at his right, “You had three weeks on your back, Frost. What do you want?”

“I’m talking ‘bout breathing not this frozen shit.”

Hicks didn’t answer; something pretty walked by and caught his eye. Again. Shaking his head, he threw his shirt over his head. Lighting a smoke, he went to find food. Coffee was a good start.

Sitting on the table, Hicks drew back on his cigarette with eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the smoke wrenching his brain further out of the stasis fog. Two gulps of coffee came next; hot and strong enough revive a week dead corpse.

“Hey, mira. Who’s Snow White?”

Hicks looked up. Vasquez was speaking quietly with those around.

“She’s supposed to be some kind of consultant,” Ferro repeated what they already knew, then sneered, “Apparently, she saw an alien once.”

Hudson joined them, “Whoopee-fuckin’-do! Hey, I’m impressed.”

Hicks shook his head and went for another smack of coffee. He’d read a quick summary of LTFC Ripley just before they’d left Gateway. He had been curious.

That had always been his problem; being curious. Too fucking smart to be a grunt, too goddamned questioning to be promoted and _keep_ the promotion. Apone’d told him, _if you’d kept your mouth shut, I’d be saluting you by now._

It was thanks to Apone he still had a job. So that’s what he did these days. He did his job, tried to keep his brain switched off and lips sealed.

Still, LTFC Ripley, Weyland-Yutani employee, made Hicks curious.

From the quick summary he’d read, she had been a civilian officer with the Company. Had a run in with something called a _xenomorph_ , and currently held the record for the longest hypersleep. Her past experiences had deemed her necessary for this mission.

Most of the marines didn’t question it, aside from idle gossip. Hicks kept what he knew to himself. He’d never been one for gossip. Grunts weren’t meant to ask questions. Even if they did no one gave a shit. They had their orders, they followed them. She was with the company. Burke was with the Company. They were all the same to a marine. This was just another mission, another job, and they were just the grunts.

Hicks drew back long on his smoke; she was attractive though.

He smiled to himself as he heard Vasquez saying so too.

Tall, really long legs, and a calm, intelligent look about her.

Pretty little breasts too, and a cute little ass, as he just seen walking passed his locker. Not a bad view to wake up too. Hard to think her three times his age when her biological age seemed only a fist full of years older than him.

That’s what you got with excessive space travel; really screwed up biology. No one looked their age anymore.

The rest of his team started to wander to the food dispensers, some of them throwing him hand gestures, nodding, or ‘fuck you, man’. The last was affectionate, if you’d call it that. A bit too just to try and screw with him. Most couldn’t take his reserved nature and wanted shake him up.

Hicks dealt with their types for going on thirteen years now. He could care less, just so long as they respected him.

They did. They all did. Hicks was their rock and they knew it.

“Come on, man. Let’s chow down.”

That was Spunkmeyer; older and wiser than many of the others. He was with Frost. Though both only PFC’s, they shared a likeness of character to Hicks. They often trained or played cards together, along with Crowe and Dietrich.

Hicks waited until he’d finished his second smoke before pushing himself off the table, disposing of his coffee mug and grabbing a tray.

“Hicks, man. You know the op?” the newest meat, Hudson, only been with the team a couple months slapped him hard on the shoulder.

Hicks looked sideways with a raised eyebrow and his practiced expression of reproach. He didn’t often pull a lot of rank with his subordinates.

Hudson needed a slap down every once in a while. This was one of those times.

Hudson sharply shifted back and out of Hicks personal space, “Yeah, sorry man.”

“No, I don’t know,” Hicks told him in his quiet, time honoured patient voice as collected his cutlery, “Ask Apone.”

Hudson bounced off in Apone’s direction and Hicks took his seat between Frost and Spunkmeyer.

Apone was telling Hudson some bullshit. Hicks didn’t take much notice.

He did smile a little when Spunkmeyer threw his usual tantrum over the food.

“Corn bread, I think,” Frost suggested.

“It’s good for you, boy. Eat it,” Hicks told him.

Hicks ate while the rest did their usual goofing off. After a while though, Hicks looked over to the table where Bishop sat with the two strangers. Three if you included Gorman; Hicks did, “Looks like the new lieutenant’s too good to eat with the rest of us grunts.”

Frost looked over to the table, “Boy’s definitely got a corncob up his ass.” He looked again, “Ripley woman’s highly do-able though.”

Hicks’ eyes wandered back over to her then resumed eating, “Good luck with that, Frosty. She’s gotta be light years away from your pay-grade.”

“No shit. Yours either.” Frost scoffed, “Betcha our looey’s got his sights set.”

He looked back to the table where the Lieutenant sat and shook his head in disgust. They were all the same; rich kids on Earth or one of the richer colonies, given the best education and a clear pathway to rule over men like him.

Ripley didn’t seem to be too chummy with the lieutenant, or even the flashy Company-man.

That tickled him some.

Then again, she’d looked like she’d not wanted to be there since he’d seen her at the airlock. There was a definite ‘piss off’ stamped on her forehead.

The sound of something crashing to the floor stopped all conversation and they all looked over to see Ripley saying something hard to Bishop. Bishop got up to retrieve the thrown tray.

“Guess she don’t like the corn bread, either,” Frost joked beside him.

Hicks frowned. Seems the woman had no love of Company reps, lieutenants, or synthetics.

She really didn’t want to be there.

 

0000

 

The thing about the military that all new recruits learn very quickly is there is always a lot of waiting. Most soldiers find ways to occupy those times; cards, sleeping, smoking. It was a well known fact a career soldier, or 'lifer', could willingly drop off to sleep anywhere or for any length of time; a prudent survival technique.

However, waiting for Gorman to begin briefing was not one of those times for sleeping or cards. While they wanted some sparred, some dicked around, and Hicks smoked. He finished four smokes before Apone finally called them to attention.

At this rate due, Hicks was going to run out of them before they'd even made planet-side.

“What is it, Hicks?”

“Hudson, sir. He’s Hicks.”

No real surprise there. What lieutenant would actually know what their goddamned third in command’s name was?

Hicks finished lighting another smoke. Really gonna run out before planet-side.

“What’s the question?”

“Is this gonna be a stand-up fight, sir, or another bug hunt?”

Hicks felt the need to roll his eyes when the Gorman began the line every soldier hated, ‘ _All we know_ ’.

“All we know is that there’s still no contact with the colony and that a xenomorph may be involved.”

He closed his eyes, _Bug-hunt_.

Frost was lost, “Excuse me, sir. A what?”

“A xenomorph.”

“It’s a bug-hunt,” Hicks told him. He looked over to Ripley, “What exactly are we dealing with here?”

Gorman gestured to Ripley unnecessarily, “Ripley.”

“My report is with the mission briefs but I’ll tell what I know,” she looked around to address them, “We set down on LV-426. One of our crew members was brought back on board with something attached to his face. What we didn’t know at the time was the creature implanted him with an embryo; the second lifecycle of the xenomorph.” She sighed, “The first attaches itself to its victim then injects an embryo, detaches, and dies. It’s essentially a walking reproductive organ. Then the-“

“Sounds like you Hicks,” Hudson grinned over at him.

Hicks blew out the smoke from his lungs at him, but didn’t respond. A couple of the others groaned and Frost, standing behind Hudson, flicked Hudson in the ear, “Dickhead.”

Vasquez said under her breath, “Pendejo.”

Ripley watched them, Hicks watched her. She was trying to be patient.

 _Welcome to my world, sweetheart_.

She shook her head, then continued, “The embryo, the second form, hosts in the victim’s body for several hours. Gestating. Then it-“ she swallowed and he guessed that’s where things got _nasty_.

“-it emerges, violently, killing its host. Moults. Grows rapidly-“

“Look man. I only need to know one thing.”

“Yes?”

Hicks knew this speech so well he mouthed in sync with Vasquez, “Where they are!”

They all knew Vasquez’ speech, but still laughed. Same jokes, same bullshit, everyday.

“Are you finished?” Ripley’s voice wasn’t loud but sure as hell bought about silence. “I hope you’re right, I really do.”

Yeah, she sure as hell didn’t want to be there.

“Yeah, okay, right. Thank you, Ripley.” Gorman didn’t seem to believe these xenomorphs were anything to worry about. “We also have Ripley’s report on file. I suggest you study it.”

“Because just one of those things managed to wipe out my entire crew in less than twenty-four hours! And if the colonists have found that ship, then there’s no telling how many of them have been exposed. Do you understand?”

Yeah, she sure as hell was scared. And pissed.

Gorman threw his weight around and they broke the briefing.

Hicks remained where he was sitting, smoking and watching Ripley shake her head in disgust, arguing with Burke. Her eyes really blazed when she was pissed.

“Come on, Ripley. Let’s get another coffee.”

“I’m not here to drink fucking coffee, Burke.”

She suddenly turned and saw him watching. He didn’t look away.

“Hicks?”

“Sarge?” he responded, slowly breaking contact from her to look at Apone.

“Hudson’s volunteering to be your bitch. You ride him good.”

Blowing out the last of his cigarette, he butted and got down. Hudson was waiting, somewhat contrite. “Easy, boy. You’re in luck, the heads are self-cleaning on the Sulaco.”

Hudson relaxed, “Thanks man-“

“But we’ll find you something just as _exciting_.” He glanced back to where Ripley had been standing. She was gone.


	3. Let it Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say, that although I did say 'beef-up' the Hicks\Ripley thing, I was never going to lay it on thick. That would seem against the tone of the film. Lots of very small tidbits, gradually adding to the attraction, building the tension...

 

0000

 

After the marines had broken from the briefing, Ripley felt raw. She should’ve expected the marines to be no better than anyone else she’d told about the aliens.

At least they didn’t look at her like her shrink did; like she was broken. No, just a rambling idiot, seeing monsters where there weren’t any.

The marines busied themselves for a couple hours and Ripley tried to keep busy. She re-read the reports from Hadley’s Hope from the past six months prior to their silence. She re-read the mission briefing, and tactical analysis. She took a turn in the rec-room, running herself into a fine dripping sweat but did little to tire her mind.

Eventually, she wandered back to where all the noise was coming from. Marines were working like bees in a hive.

She saw Burke and Gorman standing together talking. Ripley had no wish to join their conversation.

Giving them a wide birth, she walked out in amongst the finely controlled chaos. She needed something to do. Something, anything to take her mind off seeing Kane convulsing on the dinner table.

“Clear, please.”

Ripley jumped back out of PFC Frost’s way as he pushed a rack of incomprehensible equipment passed her.

“Excuse me,” Hudson came passed in the other direction, carrying god knows what.

“Damn it,” she growled to herself. Scanning the bay, she spotted Apone and strode over to him.

Apone was with Hicks but Ripley didn’t let that stop her. The young marine may unnerve her but if she allowed herself to sit idle much longer, she’d go crazy.

“Did you check number three?” Apone was asking.

“Yeah-“

“Let me see that. That’s good. Right.”

Ripley stopped in front of the two men, “Hi. I feel like kind of a fifth wheel around here. Is there anything I can do?”

Hicks looked at her doubtfully but it was Apone who spoke, “I don’t know, is there anything you can do?” and then both of them were looking at her doubtfully.

Ripley was taken back, but wasn’t going to back down, “Well, I can drive that loader.”

Hicks and Apone looked at each other.

“I have a class-2 dock rating.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not a toy,” Apone told her.

Hicks said nothing but the scepticism on his face was enough to rile her.

“That’s all right,” she answered Apone crisply, “This isn’t Christmas.”

Apone looked again to Hicks who shrugged as if to say, _It’s your call_.

Apone shrugged too, “Be my guest.”

In two minutes Ripley was strapped in and had the motors running, the familiar whine of the loader somewhat comforting to her.

She knew she had an audience but that was okay. They could watch.

Walking the big machine over to a stack of modules, she used the controls to quickly and safely load one from the top. Turning the loader back to face her audience, she asked smugly, “Where do you want it?”

To her surprise Hicks laughed quietly. Apone looked shocked but then joined in with Hicks, laughing from deep within his belly, “Bay 12, please.”

Ripley smiled, vindicated. “All of them?”

“All of them,” Hicks answered in that low voice of his, still grinning and not breaking eye contact, “Those modules behind me?”

Ripley looked to the big stack behind him, “Bay 12?”

“Please.”

“If you finish that,” Apone cut in, “You come see Hicks. He’ll keep you working hard.”

She bet he would.

“All right,” she answered and went about her task.

 

*

Apone seemed to be absent, but he did say for her to find Hicks. After their previous exchange, she walked over to him a little less unnerved than before, “Looks like everything’s winding down, but is there anything else I can do?”

Hicks’ looked at her with those intense green eyes, but this time there was definite amusement there, “Not going to now tell me you can drive an APC?”

“APC?”

He looked behind her pointedly and she followed his gaze. It was one of those heavily armoured troop carriers. Ripley smiled smugly, “I’m sure it can’t be that hard to figure out.”

Hicks scoffed quietly, “Well, grunts do drive it, right?”

Ripley laughed too, out of pure embarrassment, “I wasn’t suggesting-“

“Hicks!” Gorman’s voice came from behind Hicks, full of his usual contempt but this time louder, “You’re fraternizing when my launch bay’s a shit-storm? Zip–up your fly, marine, and get it done!”

 _Fraternizing?_ Gorman thought she was fraternizing with his men? After all the arm twisting he and Burke had done to get her to go on this mission?

Ripley felt acid build up in her stomach, but before she could turn to face Gorman, Hicks gave her a small shake of his head, his eyes actually apologetic, the corner of his mouth upturning briefly before dropping it and turning to face the lieutenant full on, “Yes, sir.”

Gorman seemed satisfied and marched away, undoubtedly to strike up terror somewhere else close by.

“We’re almost done here, anyway,” Hicks said quietly, his eyes tracking the lieutenant, “Thanks for your help.”

Without anything further, he walked away to do as he had been ordered.

Ripley watched, then turned away to see Bishop run over to APC Hick’s had mentioned. A few seconds later the APC powered up and began moving.

Gorman was an arsehole, of that Ripley was now sure.

Apone came walking though the door into the bay but at this point she sooner chew her toe off than give Gorman another chance to think her the _fraternizing_ type. Did he think her some teenage girl with her tongue hanging out?

She wasn’t. Neither was Hicks, she released. She had been wrong about that.

“Ripley!” Burke came over to her, “You’ve been busy.”

“I don’t like sitting idly by and watch others work.”

Burke didn’t seem to get her point, “Well, they’re about ready to get underway. Gorman says to stay near that big armoured truck and we’ll be told when to get in.”

A smile touched her lips, “It’s called an APC.”

*

The great calamity of noise coming towards her, Gorman, Bishop and Burke turned out to be Apone. The whole marine unit came running out together with Apone nipping at their ankles. They were all beefed up in battle armour, helmets and equipment, but none seemed any less agile under the weight. Each carried a wicked looking pulse-rifle on steroids; except for Vasquez and Drake who’d grown canons out of their waists.

Apone was still belting out orders, opening the door to the APC. Apone and Hicks went in first, followed by the rest. She waited a five count then stealthily climbed in and found an empty seat. Burke sat next to her.

Hudson came over and locked in the bar around them, securing her and Burke, “Let’s get to it! Wahoo!”

He moved over to the next group of seats to lock them in too, “I’m ready, man. Ready to get it on!”

Ripley looked away from the babbling Hudson and found Hicks watching her again.

As the APC moved along and up into the belly of the dropship, Hudson continued his bullshit and Ripley pointedly kept her eyes forward. She didn’t want to react to the nervousness swelling in her stomach, neither give Hudson the satisfaction of an audience. Or let Hicks’ stare unnerve her further. Or even more so, let Hicks see the fear in her eyes.

She breathed and kept her eyes forward. Keep breathing. Eyes forward.

Then the floor dropped out from under her.

Closing her eyes tightly, she waited for the drop to finish when the engines kicked in.

The engines kicked in, hard, pressing her against the bar in her side. But with the ship in forward acceleration, it was no longer bouncing and safe for her to open her eyes.

The marines were all calm and silent, waiting with expectation and confidence. They were all old hands at this.

Even Ripley. She was a pilot after-all.

Gorman though-

Ferro’s voice came through the intercom, “We’re in for some chop.”

Gorman squeezed his eyes closed and gripped his seat. He was pale and sweat beaded on his face.

Still pissed at him, she called out to him, “How many drops is this for you, lieutenant?”

He looked over at her, “Thirty-eight.” He looked like he was about to puke, “Simulated.”

From Ripley’s left came Vazquez’ voice, “How many combat drops?”

“Uh, two. Including this one.”

The marines listening in scoffed and sneered, but Ripley glared at Burke. She was trusting her worst nightmare to a rookie commander? One who’d been throwing himself around like he was some kind of general.

What an arsehole.

She looked over at Hicks, expecting him to offer her some further assurance that Gorman was indeed a capable commander.

Well, if he had any worries about Gorman, they obviously didn’t affect his confidence. Hicks was fast asleep, his head gently rolling against his seat with the sway of the ship. His mouth was slightly open and a lot of the hard edge she’d seen in him had disappeared.

He looked peaceful and damn it if he didn’t look even prettier.

Ripley shook her head.

“Don’t worry, Ripley,” Hudson cockily called out to her, obviously having spotted her staring at the unconscious Hicks, “Every good soldier grabs shut eye any chance he gets. Nothin’ to worry about.”

He reached over and waved his hand in front of Hicks’ face and when he was satisfied his superior was truly asleep, he grinned widely and jumped up onto his feet, “But me, I’m ready now, man. Ready to get-it-on! Check it out, I am the ultimate badass. State-of-the-badass art! You do not want to fuck with me. Check it out.”

He came over to her, checking the locking mechanism for the protective bar was engaged, “As I say, Ripley, don’t worry. Me and my squad of ultimate badasses will protect you.” He waved back to the others who cheered him on. “Check it out. Independently targeting particle-beam failings-“

Ripley sat there trying to take no notice of Hudson and his bullshit. It was hard. She wished someone would shut him up.

 


	4. The Colony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously it's a new chapter whenever the POV changes.
> 
> Unsure about the next chapter. There's a lot of action that's just pointless to rewrite - we can see what happens in the movie. Might just have to summarise somehow...

0000

 

Hicks was jerked awake. Looking around he found an elbow in his side. “What?” he asked Crowe.

Crowe shot his head off to the back of the APC.

But he immediately heard as much as saw the reason his nap was interrupted.

Hudson.

“Independently targeting particle-beam phalanx gun. Fry half a city with this puppy.”

Hicks looked over to Ripley. Hudson’s bravado seemed to be for her benefit alone. “How long?” he asked Crowe.

“Two minutes so far. Any second now he may actually pause for breath.”

“-we got nukes, we got knives, sharp sticks-“

Hicks reached up to grasp Hudson by his battle harness, and putting his strength behind it he yanked him straight down hard with a thud, landing him back into the seat beside Hicks. Hudson blinked in surprise, grabbing a hold of Hicks to steady himself.

“Save it, Hudson,” he ordered smoothly, keeping his voice low in warning.

Hudson was still surprised, but nodded, “Sure thing, Hicks man.” He looked away from him, pretending to be a part of the APC’s wall.

Looking to Ripley, he saw she was staring at him. Appreciation maybe? Concern more likely.

He met her gaze for long moment, then leant forward, “Don’t mind Hudson. Don’t mind any of them. They maybe full of shit but there’s none better in a tight spot.”

Ripley looked to the now silent Hudson to his left then back to him, “If he can shoot his gun as well as he does his mouth, it’ll be worth it.”

Hicks lifted his lips to a half smile, “You needn’t worry there. He’s a combat specialist, just like everyone else.”

“Like you?”

Hicks grinned, “I’m not here because I wanted to be a pastry chef.”

She smiled prettily but then turned away, signalling the end to their conversation.

He watched her for another minute, but then resigned. Closing his eyes, he decided to get back to his nap. “Feel free to wake me if he starts mouthing off again.”

If she responded, he didn’t hear it before falling back asleep.

*

Another jerk threw him an elbow.

“Two minutes, Hicks.”

“Copy,” he sat up straighter, gave his eyes a few blinks, then stood up; ready.

He looked around to where Ripley had been seated. She wasn’t there. Neither was Burke. Must be up with Gorman.

Rolling feeling back into his shoulders, it was time to go to work.

‘I hope you’re right, I really do,’ Ripley’s words came back to him.

Well, they’d know soon enough.

“Ten seconds people. Look sharp!” Apone called out. “All right. I want a nice, clean dispersal this time.”

The APC came to a halt and the door flew open, “Let’s go! Move it out!”

Hicks got through the door and lead his squad to the left, and held their position to provide Apone’s squad cover. The rain was belting and the wind was cold but that made little difference to the mission.

Gorman came through his headset, “First squad up on-line. Hicks, get your in a cordon between the entrance and the APC. Watch the rear.”

From his vantage point, Hicks could see Apone try the door then waved at Hudson. Twenty seconds later, Hudson had the door open.

Hudson was a dick, but he was good at his job.

“Second team, move up. Flanking positions, close quarters.”

Hicks signalled his squad and they all ran as one to the entrance, picking what cover there was and stood watch whilst Apone’s team moved inside.

Each of Hicks’ team kept scanning around them, looking for anything which might indicate hostile.

“Second team, move inside. Hicks, take the upper level.”

Taking the lead, he led them inside then silently up the stairwell to the upper level. Gorman ordered him to use his motion tracker, and after a few minutes, “Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.”

They did a sweep, leaving no room or door unchecked.

Nothing. Nothing but a whole lot of mess and destruction. He and Drake spotted rotting food still on plates, coffee in cups, coffee machines run dry. Whatever happened to these people, it happened real fast.

Continuing on, Hicks led his team through more corridors, up yet another level. More rooms, more mess, more destruction, and no sign of the colonists.

Abruptly a female voice sounded in his headset, “Hicks? Back up. Pan right. There.”

Hicks saw what had caught her eye and walked over to kneel down next to the holes in the grating, “You seeing his all right? Looks melted.” He looked up to Drake’s camera, “Somebody must’ve bagged one of Ripley’s bad guys here.”

Drake frowned at him.

Hicks shook his head and got back up, “Xenomorph’s have concentrated acid for blood.”

“Really?” he sounded surprised.

“Always knew you couldn’t read, Drake.”

Drake shrugged, “That’s why we got you, bro. You read so we don’t have to.”

That was Drake all right. Why read when you’ve got a fuckin’ big gun?

“Hicks,” Ripley’s voice came back over the headset, “I’m not seeing any bodies? If someone killed one then-"

“Where’s the body?” Hicks looked into Drake’s camera to talk to her directly, “There’s nothing here. Either they biodegrade real fast, or they collect their dead.”

“Or there’s some hungry big-ass rats around,” Drake scoffed.

Hicks glanced from Drake’s camera to Drake, then back to the camera, “There’s no evidence of any other organisms that we can see. We’re moving on.”

“Keep your eye out for anything else that doesn’t belong, Corporal,” that was Gorman, being obvious as ever.

“Yes, sir.”

He signalled for his team to continue, but he also had them keep a sharp eye open for any further evidence.

It was only five minutes later when Dietrich called out, “Dead end here, Hicks. We’ve run out of runway.”

“Second squad. What’s your status?” Apone sounded in his ear.

Perfect timing, “Uh, we just finished out sweep. Nobody’s home.”

“Roger. Sir, this place is dead. Whatever happened here, I think we missed it.”

There was a pause.

“First team, head for operations. Hudson, see if you can get their CPU on-line.”

“Affirmative.”

“Hicks. Meet me at the South Lock. We’re coming in.”

“Roger.” Frost and Dietrich exchanged glances then sniggered and Drake spat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hicks told them. Everyone by now knew Gorman was a pansy-ass. Didn’t mean they didn’t follow orders. “Come on, you heard him. Move out!”

By the time they’d made it to the South Lock, the APC was just pulling up. He had the rest of his squad remain inside while he and Frost went to show the lieutenant in.

It was still pissing down and cold. Undoubtedly the lieutenant was all cosy in the APC.

He watched as Gorman led Burke then Ripley out, Burke instantly huddling from the cold.

Mark that two pansy-asses.

Gorman strode up fast, followed on his heels by Burke, both eager to get out of the rain. Bishop and Wiezbowski came around from the other side of the APC. Hicks and Frost turned to follow them when he realised he hadn’t seen Ripley go inside.

Looking back he saw her standing motionless, all dripping and pale.

She definitely didn’t want to be there.

He slowly walked over to her, “Are you all right?”

She wasn’t, that much was clear. She was scared. But what else could he say?

Her eyes came to focus again and looked at him. She drew a steadying breath then with a small nod, “Yes. Thanks.”

When she walked on ahead, he nodded to Frost who returned the nod and fell into step beside her. Hicks took up the rear.

“Sir, they sealed off this wing at both ends,” Drake reported, “welded the doors and blocked off the stairs with heavy equipment. But it looks like the barricade didn’t hold.”

“Any bodies?”

“No, sir.”

“Last stand,” Frost commented from Ripley’s side.

“Must’ve been hell of a fight,” Gorman agreed.

“Yeah, looks that way,” Hicks also agreed, looking around him. Ripley was standing away from the others, her face deep in though. He came in closer and caught her eye in subtle question.

“It took the bodies,” she said quietly, “on the Nostromo.”

Hicks looked around them and wondered aloud, “They collect the dead. But for what?”

A ghost passed over her and she shivered, “No doubt we’ll find out.”

Gorman waved at Drake, “All right, Drake, this way. We should be able to cut through the medlab to operations.”

Drake took point, with Dietrich, Wiezbowski and Gorman. Burke shuffled along quietly in the middle. Hicks and Frost covered the rear and kept Ripley between them.

She walked on without stopping, her eyes scanning from one side to another. She must’ve expected one of those creatures jump out at her.

Frost caught his eye. Hicks nodded, allowing Frost to take a more flanking position to their group. Hicks shifted in just that little bit tighter on Ripley.

Upon reaching the medlab, their team fanned out even more, but Gorman didn’t seem to notice. He and Burke were preoccupied. He looked over to see what had caught his CO’s attention when Ripley stopped so suddenly ahead of him; he almost walked straight into her, “Ripley?”

“There,” she whispered so low he barely heard her. He followed her train of sight to a room to their right. Inside he spotted what she’d seen..

“Lieutenant?” Hicks called out. No response. He grated his teeth, “Gorman.”

Finally Gorman looked at him and moved to follow.

Ripley stood at the doorway. Before she stepped into the room, Hicks took her arm and gently moved her out of the way. The room hadn’t been cleared. He had to go first. He was armed. “Just a second. Let me go first,” he told her quietly.

She nodded, moving against the door frame to let him pass. Even then, it was a tight squeeze and he brushed against to get through.

Inside was just another lab, same as any they’d already seen. Except this one had four creatures held in stasis tubes. Creatures that looked exactly like the CAD graphics from Ripley’s report. The colonists had been doing a little collecting themselves. Two of the creatures were obviously dead, grey skinned and the solution they were held in cloudy.

The other two were pink. They looked alive.

“Are those the same ones?” Burke asked Ripley.

Hicks looked over to see her nod but didn’t speak, keeping a good distance back from the creatures.

Burke didn’t have the same worry, waltzing right up to one of the specimen tanks, peering closely in fascination.

“Careful, Burke,” Ripley warned.

Burke didn’t listen and leaned in even closer, his nose almost touching the tube. And then comically jumped back in fright when the lil’ bastard started banging against its prison to get at him.

Hicks smirked. A walking dick for another walking dick; a perfect match. “Looks like love at first sight to me. Maybe you ought to buy him dinner first?”

Behind him he heard Ripley stifle a laugh but then pretend to cough.

“Yo, Hicks!” Hicks heard Frost call.

He rounded Ripley and went through the door, “What is it?”

Frost was holding up his motion-sensor, “I think we got something here.”

 

0000


	5. Newt and the Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went slightly AU to the Alien universe in this chapter; wasn’t too sure about adding the little conversation at all, but did it anyway to give more insight into the characters, as well as give them more background, a somewhat more interesting history, and a comfy connection between Hicks and Ripley. I hope it’s not a repugnant change for anyone. Tried to keep it short and not too mucky or mushy.
> 
> Also, in the deleted scenes, Newt bites Hicks again when she tries to escape for a second time. I disregarded this because it seemed contradictory – Newt and Ripley already had a rapport, why would she try to escape again? And Hicks’ comment seemed out of character. Let me know if you disagree.
> 
> And apologies for the ‘ass’ bit – but as a woman, I do know it’s just as instinctual as the crotch-glance. Guys, sorry, but despite what we say, we do look!
> 
> Thanks to those who sent their kudos and even more thanks to those who reviewed. Sorry for the delay – hope the length sort of makes up for it (it’s long because there didn’t seem to be a good place to stop, lots of rewriting a lot of movie dialogue, and witnessing things at this point was far cooler from Ripley’s POV!).
> 
> This chapter was difficult to write – so much dialogue mixed with so much action . . .

0000

 

“Yo Hicks!”

Hicks brushed passed her, “What is it?”

“I think we got something here.” Ripley automatically turned to follow Hicks, the concern in Frost’s voice putting her back on edge. The motion sensor continued to beep but the thumping in her heart was louder.

Hicks walked over to Frost, Ripley followed close behind him. Nervously, she peeked over his shoulder at Frost’s sensor, wishing the damn thing was broken and giving a false reading.

“Behind us,” Hicks told Gorman who shouldered his way in between her and Hicks.

“One of us?” Ripley offered hopefully.

Gorman cleared his throat, “Apone, where are your people? Anybody in “D” block?”

“Ah, that’s a negative. We’re all in operations.”

Hicks immediately signalled to Drake without waiting for Gorman and Ripley stepped back away from Hicks to let the big man with the equally big gun come through to take point in front of Frost. Ripley resumed her place close behind Hicks as they moved around the lab to confront the cause of the beeping. Her heart raced even harder than before, every moment expecting claws and teeth to jump out at her from the walls and dark places.

Something did jump out at her. A gasp of surprise escaped her lips and her eyes darted to her right expecting to find one of those facehuggers throwing itself towards her.

It wasn’t. Gorman had knocked some equipment off the table. She sighed in relief and looked back ahead. The three ahead of her didn’t laugh at her jump; their eyes were looking instead at Gorman. Ripley could only guess they didn’t approve of their officer’s lack of stealth.

The beeping intensified. “It’s moving,” said Hicks.

Drake realigned his eye to his gun, “Which way?”

“It’s coming straight for us,” Frost told him with a nod, “straight up.”

The marines moved carefully, precisely, together as one; step for step, weapons held ready in unison.

Drake stopped at the doorway, Hicks crabbed through first, his rifle tracking for any movement. Drake followed, then Frost, each moving with practiced ease, knowing where each of them were without the need to look. Ripley followed but a few more steps behind now, completely transfixed on the fluidic marines and her curiosity fighting against her fear, drawing her out of the lab after them.

The beeping grew more and more incessant, building upon her nerves. Each of her breaths sounded like a gale to her ears against the silent, methodical stalking of the marines. Somewhere behind her came a flood of light. Bishop held a torch and swept the hallway.

Something darted across the corridor, and far quicker than possible Hicks threw his weapon into Drakes, sending deafening shots of death harmlessly in the wall and ceiling.

“Fuck!”

“Hold up!” Hicks ordered Drake briskly. He held up his rifle to point to the ceiling and turned to look directly at her. “Ripley?”

Ripley blinked in surprise.

Hicks knocked his head back to incite her to come forward then crept forward, bending down low to kneel on the grating. Ripley followed him, not knowing what he thought she could do to help or even worse, what she would find. Hicks was adamant through, leaning down even lower on his elbow, he looked to her now kneeling beside him, “Down in there. You’re the least scariest looking amongst us.”

Ripley looked at him in question but he said no more. She crouching down on all fours and with the help of Bishop’s light, she saw what why Hicks had thrown his weapon into Drakes.

A small girl, filthy but very much alive, cowered far underneath the pipes, staring at her and Hicks.

Shocked, she glanced at Hicks who was grinning broadly at her, “how on Earth-?”

Hicks shrugged then tried to manoeuvre himself even further under the ledge. He really was too big to fit but the man was determined.

Ripley tried to get the girl’s attention, “Hey, shh. It’s all right. We’re here to help you. It’s all right. Come on. Come out here.”

“Just grab her, Corporal,” Gorman’s bored voice commanded. Unnecessarily too, for Hicks almost had her. Just another few centimetres.

The girl inched back from Hicks’ hand with a sharp intake of air.

“Don’t be afraid. Come on. We won’t hurt you. We’re here to help you,” she tried to use her best mother tone, “Shh. It’s all right. It’s okay. Come on out. Come on. Easy. Easy.”

“I got her,” Hicks started to pull the girl out towards them. “Ow! Damn!”

The girl suddenly took off in a flash of ratty hair and dirt.

“Watch her!” yelled Hicks, “She’s gone under the grille!”

“Don’t let her go!” Ripley cried in panic. The last thing she wanted was the girl to run off to who knows where. To face who knew what.

“Where’d she go?!” she demanded, searching desperately. Who could believe a girl could move that fast in such a confined space?

“Shine the light here!” called Frost. “Here. Here.”

Ripley tried to warden off the others. Hicks was right, she was the least scary amongst them. “Keep back. Keep back. Don’t scare her.”

The girl changed direction and went for an air shaft.

“Grab her. We’re gonna lose her,” Hicks called out from behind her.

“Damn it!” Ripley growled, watching the girl make it through the small shaft. She grabbed the torch from Bishop and threw herself down on to the floor. Using her arms, she pulled her way into the vent after her.

“Ripley!” Gorman cried, “You don’t know what’s in there!”

“Ripley?” Hicks called from the vent opening.

“I’m okay,” she called back to them. “Seems to lead to a small room ahead.”

“How the hell did she fit in there?”

Just ahead the girl pulled herself quickly out of the tunnel and flung a grill across Ripley’s path.

“Wait!” she implored, bracing her hands and forearms against the grill. The girl was nowhere near strong enough to stop her and she pushed the grill open and climbed out. She watched the girl crawl over her collection of clutter, food stuffs, bedding and mementos to huddle in the corner. Ripley was amazed. This must have been where the girl had hidden since contact was lost with the colony.

On her knees, Ripley shuffled her way over to the girl, “It’s okay. It’s all right.”

At once the girl slunk back with a gasp.

“Don’t be afraid.”

The widening of the girls eyes was her only warning and Ripley threw herself to the side and snatched the girl into her arms. “Wait. No, you don’t.”

Instantly the child’s defence instincts kicked in, screaming and failing around, she tried to hit or kick any part of her. Her head went to the side, trying to find some part of Ripley to sink her teeth into like she’d done to Hicks.

Ripley’s grip didn’t slacken and gave the girl nothing to hit or bite. She held her tightly against her. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be all right now.”

The girl stopped screaming and started crying.

“Shh,” she whispered, “Easy. Easy. It’s going to be okay.”

The girl gave another couple good tries to free herself, but Ripley didn’t relent. She kept her sure hold and whispered soft words of comfort until the girl grew tired and gave up.

She did and within a few more seconds the girl fell into silence. She continued to hold her and whisper gently. Having her under control, Ripley took a moment to look around and that’s when she spotted the picture frame. The girl in her arms as filthy but there was no doubt the photo was of her and the name underneath was Rebecca Jordan.

“Ripley?” Hicks’ voice called through the tunnel.

“I’m here. I have her. She’s okay,” she called back, still holding the girl, Rebecca, tightly against her.

“Good ‘cause even naked, none of us can crawl in there after you.”

Ripley smiled tightly despite herself, “We’re fine.”

“Dietrich, you might fit?”

“In your dreams, Hicks,” Dietrich snorted, “I ain’t getting naked for you lot.”

Frost laughed, “Yeah, word is you don’t get naked for anyone.”

“Vas could fit,” Drake put in. “Or Burke.”

“Shut up,” Gorman snapped.

“We’re fine. We’re coming back through.” Ripley made her way back to the tunnel with Rebecca, “I’m putting her in first. The tunnel only leads to you, so you’ll have to grab her when she comes.”

“Got it,” Hicks confirmed, “Send her through.”

Ripley coaxed the girl back into the shaft, “Go on. And no more biting. That’s not nice.”

The girl, Rebecca, looked down but then did as she was told. Ripley followed closely on her heels. Ahead, Hicks pulled Rebecca out and gently set her back on her feet but kept a grip on the girl’s shoulder.

He then held out a hand to her.

Ripley took it and allowed his firm grasp to carefully pull her out and help her stand. “Thanks,” she said then took Rebecca’s shoulder from him.

“Come on, let’s get to the command centre,” Gorman gestured them back the way they’d come. “Maybe we’ll finally get some answers.”

 

0000

 

It had taken but a moment for Ripley to realise Gorman was not good with children. None of the marines seemed to be, but Gorman’s condescension only made his incompetence with Rebecca that much worse.

Ripley, however, not only had her talking but also learned what happened to the girl’s family all within a few minutes.

Ripley was pleased with the progress she’d made with Rebecca, or Newt as she liked to be called, even getting as far as Newt asking for more hot chocolate. She handed her the cup and continued cleaning her blackened hands. “When we get up to the Sulaco, you can have a shower; a hot shower. Would you like that Newt?”

“Uh-hmm,” she mumbled through the cup, guzzling her drink with gusto.

“I even think the soldiers have chocolate,” Ripley looked through the glass at them gathering, talking. A part of her wanted to be out there with them, to know what was happening. But the other part, the mother in her wouldn’t have her part with Newt. She was gaining a rapport with her, earning trust, and already felt a deep yearning to keep her safe.

Ripley smiled when she noticed Newt had stopped drinking and was staring at her in disbelief.

“Soldiers have chocolate?”

She laughed, “I think they do, yes. You like chocolate, huh?”

Newt smiled.

“Finish your drink then we’ll see if we can find some, okay?”

Outside, the marines were suddenly moving with a purpose unknown to her. “Something’s happening.”

Newt gulped down the last of her drink and Ripley saw Hicks heading their way.

“Hey, we’re moving out,” he said, stepping through the doorway, “You coming?”

Ripley looked from him to Newt then nodded, “We both will.”

“She talking?”

“A little,” Ripley pointed to him, “Newt, this is my friend, Corporal Hicks.”

“Yeah, we met before, didn’t we kiddo?”

Newt looked up at him warily then down to his hand and said softly, “I’m sorry I bit you.”

“That’s okay, honey. No damage.” He looked back to her, “come on, we got to go.”

Ripley grabbed Newt’s hand and followed Hicks. The marines were starting to head out.

“Ah, Ripley,” Gorman came up to her, “You can’t bring her.”

“Why not?”

“’Why not?’ She’s a child.”

“Newt? Will you go sit over there for a moment?” Once the girl did as she was told, Ripley whirled back on Gorman, “And the only survivor. You want me to leave her alone again?”

“Bishop’s here. And Spunkmeyer.”

“She is traumatised but has opened up to me. If you we separate now, who knows what further damage will be done. She could escape again.”

“A child does not belong on a military vehicle.”

“Are you saying the APC’s big enough to accommodate a small girl?”

“We’re not taking her with us!”

“I’m not leaving her behind. If she stays then I’m staying.”

“You _are_ going. She is staying.” Gorman stepped closer to her in a show of testosterone, “Ripley, this is a military operation and I’m in command. You will leave her here!”

Ripley stood her ground, unflinching and unwavering, making it known he’d have a better chance of tango-ing with a xenomorph.

Finally Gorman scoffed, “Fine. Put the girl into danger, see if I care.”

She watched him strut away, barking orders at anyone in vicinity. They were all in very real danger already. Having a unit of marines between her and Newt and whatever was out there was clearly the best place to be than aywhere else on the planet.

“Asshole,” she shook her head.

Behind her, she heard a chuckle so quietly she almost didn’t hear it, “Yeah, but they all are. What can ya do?”

Ripley looked to him but he was already walking away, holding his rifle aloft and looking around them. She regarded him for a moment, “ _’They all_ ’ meaning officers, right _Corporal_?”

He looked back over his shoulder, his brow raised as he regarding her coolly for a second before his lips twitched in an almost smile, “Absolutely, _Lieutenant_.”

Ripley grinned with a shake of her head.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

“Newt? Come on,” Ripley looked over to where Newt was still sitting on the table and held out her hand to her. Newt eagerly slid off the seat and rushed over to take her hand and they fell into step behind the marines.

Ripley consciously kept a twostep distance between her and Hicks. Though they had already searched the complex and she was surrounded by marines and their firepower, she couldn’t shake the feeling of ill ease. She couldn’t shake the feeling something was going to jump out at her and Newt.

If they did, she felt better knowing Hicks and the others were close by. Her eyes trained on him as they walked down the last corridor to the outside. He truly looked about as tough and wicked a soldier as she’d ever seen.

Yet there was a lot more to the man than just a soldier. There was definite intelligence hidden under all that armour, something that seemed to be missing from the rest of his unit.

Surely it was far smarter to gravitate towards the soldier who was just as thinking as he was lethal.

Ahead, Hicks bent down low to walk under what was left of the colonist’s failed barricade, and she was startled to find her eyes had wandered to his ass. Shifting uncomfortably with embarrassment, Ripley brought Newt’s hand forward, and let her go, “Under you go.”

Newt stopped dead and looked unsurely up at her.

“Take my hand, honey,” Hicks called to Newt, his hand held out to her from the other side of the barricade.

Ripley nodded encouraging and Newt reached out and took Hicks proffered hand, allowing herself to be guided through the metal mess. Ripley smiled to herself, thinking at least she hadn’t bitten his hand this time.

“Do you really have chocolate?”

“Who told you that?”

“Ripley did.”

Ripley dipped down under the barricade to find Hicks staring at her with a raised eyebrow, then spoke to Newt, “You’ll have to promise to keep it a secret, kiddo. It’s a brave girl who asks any marine for his chocolate.”

“I cross my heart,” Newt’s eyes lit up.

Hicks smiled ruefully then pulled open a Velcro pocket flap and dug out a decent sized thick square in a green wrapper and handed it to Newt.

Newt quickly took it from him, “Thanks Corporal Hicks.”

“Yeah, come on now. We gotta keep up,” Hicks returned his rifle to a two hand grip and lead them out the lock.

Ripley watched him as they stepped outside. The marines were scattered around, waiting. There was something in his voice when he spoke with Newt, was surprised, or dropped his guard; a very slight inflection, an accent that was not unfamiliar to her. "You have children, Hicks?"

The question clearly surprised him. He looked at her for a good second, "No."

Ripley shrugged, "You’re more comfortable with kids then the rest of your team."

Hicks didn't smile, but the surprise dropped and his eyes softened, "Kinda had to; eldest of _eleven_ ," he told her, then scoffed under his breath, "At last count."

"They’re colonists? Your parents."

He frowned, "You got that from the number of my siblings?"

"And a few other things," she shrugged with a suppressed smile. “You hide your accent well.”

He seemed to consider her words but then simply shrugged, "Labour hard, labour long, make more kids; the duty of every colonist."

Ripley thought about it as they continued to wait. Most colonies did promote reproduction, but not usually going so far as calling it duty, at least it hadn’t been where she’d grown up. There were a number of truly horrendous colonies out there, surely prime pickings for the USMC to fill their ranks with young men and women who'd do anything to escape.

“The rest of your team-“

“Are terrans, yes,” he chuckled lightly, “Can’t you tell?”

“Perhaps it’s easier to see a fellow colonist,” Ripley admitted.

He regarded her silently, “Yeah, but I ain’t from _Luna_.”

Ripley cocked her head in surprise-

"There they are," Newt whispered up at her.

She looked to the door and sure enough the rest of the marines finally arrived.

"Nice of you to turn up," Apone called out to them, "Come on, sweethearts, fall in."

Wierzbowski came forward to Apone, "Sarge, we found a couple more tunnels blocked off-"

"Later, Marine."

Ripley looked back to Hicks; he was watching Apone, his face showing his thoughts but didn’t speak, instead continuing to wait for the order to board the APC.

He noticed her gaze. "Don't go spreading it around," he joked lightly, waving towards the American flag on his shoulder, "USMC don't like admitting half their number are non-terrans."

"No they don't," Ripley agreed. Undoubtedly Hicks had signed his identity over as a citizen of Earth upon enlisting. Ripley had been the same; she had been an adopted terran for eighty odd years because the Company didn't like admitting it either.

"All right. Mount up, combat seating, let's go!" Apone ordered after Gorman finally gave his nod.

Ripley held back, allowing the marines to rush in finely tuned order, then guided Newt in after them, putting her into a seat then took the seat beside her. As the APC got the clear to head out, she noticed how quiet the marines had become once again.

Even though the majority of them loved to mouth off and fuck around, when it came to mission time, they truly worked like a well oiled machine. Ripley had to admire that about them.

Even when the silence ate away at her and fed her nerves.

When they were almost to the processing plant Apone called out two minutes.

Instinctually, she squeezed her hands to release some of the pent up anxiety.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, she looked over her left shoulder. It was no surprise her eyes were met by green ones. This time though, she didn’t stare back out of challenge or look away in discomfort.

This time she met his intense stare in the hope of finding consolation.

She was afraid.

Hicks’ stare did not waver but the smallest hint of a smile tucked up from the corner of his mouth. His eyes softened. Had he’d understood and giving her what little comfort and assurance he could?

Breathing in again, she tried in vain to settle her nerves, and as Apone called thirty seconds, she lost sight of Hicks once all the marines stood up and moved forward towards the APC’s door.

“Ten seconds, marines.”

Seeing an opening, Ripley lifted Newt off her seat and walked up to Gorman’s little command centre. Newt took another bite from her bar of chocolate but stood slightly beside her.

As the APC came to a halt, Ripley watched them all pile out in fluidic movement.

“Ripley?” a worried voice sounded from beside her.

Ripley looked down at her scared face and tucked her into her side, “It’ll be all right, Newt.”

Together they watched through the marine’s cameras their progress through the network of stairways, gangways, until finally they came across an entrance to something completely alien.

Slowly over those few minutes, Newt had gotten more comfortable and began looking curiously through each of the different cameras.

But when she saw them come to the freaky-looking alien entrance, Newt returned to Ripley’s side.

“What is that?” Gorman asked Ripley.

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly.

Gorman sighed, then set his shoulders, “Proceed inside.”

Ripley glanced at him but said nothing.

For a few minutes the marines continued through the backbone like black corded tunnels towards their destination and Ripley remained glued to the viewscreens. Her heart thumped and she wanted desperately to tell Gorman to pull them out.

How could anything good be down there?

Or alive? Surely the colonists were all dead.

The marines didn’t appear at all afraid and commented on their surroundings.

“Looks like some sort of secreted resin,” Dietrich offered.

“Yeah, but secreted from what?” Hicks asked.

“Ripley, what do you think?”

“It’s possible,” she answered Dietrich.

“Digestion?” Hicks asked.

“Nah, doubt it,” Dietrich disagreed, “More like structural. My bet anyway. It’s almost like a nest in here.”

Ripley glanced at Gorman but he didn’t seem at all concerned.

“Nobody touch nothing,” commanded Apone.

“Busy little creatures, huh?” Burke put in with a laugh.

Ripley ignored him. Something had caught her eye. “Lieutenant, what do those pulse rifles fire?”

“Ten-millimetre, explosive-tipped caseless, standard light-armoured piercing round. Why?”

“Well,” she pointed to the layout of the station and the tiny moving dots that represented the marines, “look where your team is. They’re right under the primary heat exchangers.”

“So?”

She raised her brow, “So if they fire their weapons in there, won’t they rupture the cooling system?”

“Ho, ho, ho. Yeah.” Burke leaned in closer to them, “She’s absolutely right.”

Gorman didn’t get it, “So? So what?”

“Look. This whole station is basically a fusion reactor, right?”

Gorman looked stunned, his eyes widening. If soldiers knew anything, it was weapons and explosions.

Burke continued, “So she’s talking about a thermonuclear explosion, and adios, muchachos.”

“Oh great,” Gorman put his head in his hands, “Wonderful. Shit!” He sighed, then flicked his microphone back on, “Look. Uh . . . Apone.” He sighed again, beads of sweat growing on his forehead, “Look. We can’t have any firing in there. I, uh, I want you to collect magazines from everybody.”

As one would expect, the outrage was immediate.

“Is he fuckin’ crazy?”

“What the hell are we supposed to use, man, harsh language?”

“This is bullshit!”

“Maybe he wanna come down in here and explain it!”

“Flame units only!” Gorman cut across them, “I want rifles slung.”

“Sir, I-“ Apone begun.

“Just do it, sergeant. And no grenades.”

“Pull them out, Gorman. You can’t send them in there with nothing.”

“Quite, Ripley. They have their incinerators.”

“You could at least explain-“

“This is not a democracy, this is the military. They do as I say.”

Ripley looked to Burke who shrugged. Ripley set her jaw and looked back to the screens. This had to be very bad.

“Let’s go, marine. Give it up,” Apone was still collecting magazines, taking the last two from Hicks and Frost, “Frost, you got the duty. Open that bag.”

“Thanks a lot, Sarge.”

“Hicks, cover our ass.”

Ripley looked to Hicks’ screen and saw he’d pulled out an old weapon from the holster on his back. Something she’d not seen outside a museum. An old shotgun.

“I like to keep this handy . . . for close encounters.”

Frost smirked, “I heard that.”

The marines continued on, carefully, perhaps not as confident as they had been since they’d all been effectively disarmed.

An uncomfortable quiet had settled over them.

“Any movement?” Gorman asked into the silence.

Hudson answered, “Nothing. Zip.”

“Holy shit,” Apone cursed quietly.

Ripley’s eyes shot to Apone’s screen. Two feet, two human feet in shoes stuck out from one of the walls. Apone’s perspective kept rising slowly until a face appeared, then he stepped back in horror. The sergeant continued walking but at a greater birth away from the wall.

“Newt?” Ripley called, keeping her voice firm, “go sit up front.”

Newt looked and she was sure she hadn’t seen the dead body merging out of the wall.

“Go on!” she told her sternly.

At once Newt’s eyes bulged in fear but she hurried to do ask she was told.

Ripley turned back to the screen, “It doesn’t look as though they’ve eaten any of them.”

Hicks’ voice came through her headset, “No, no bite wounds or tearing of flesh. Whatever they’re using them for, they aren’t eaten them.”

“Unless ingest decomposing-“

“Doubt it. The resin encompasses the bodies. And I’m seeing a lotta bodies, not just human. My guess fragments of xenomorphs,” he reasoned, “By the looks of it they’ve integrated them into the nest’s structure using the secreted resin,” Hicks looked into Frost’s camera, “Now we know why they collect the dead.”

Ripley closed her eyes against the sting. Dallas and Brett, they’d both been used the same way. Now they knew why.

“Yo man Hicks, you and Ripley need some private time?”

Ripley’s eyes snapped open-

“Hudson!” Apone warned, “One more word out of you-“

“These look a lot like the description of the _eggs_ Nostromo’s crew found,” Hicks continued, his tone showing absolutely no reaction to Hudson’s tease.

Ripley eased in close to see what Hicks was looking. It was egg-like, leather looking, and spent. The egg was empty. “It does. The creatures die after impregnation-“

“Yeah, I see them.” She continued to watch as he walked over and lifted up a skeletal mess that looked a lot like a dead spider with the barrel of his shotgun, long spidery legs curled upwards into the body. After a second he dropped the remains with more vigour than necessary. There were half dozen others just like them.

“Help! Top! Get up here! We got a live one!”

Ripley searched the screens for Dietrich’s. The medic had found a live colonist, a young woman. She was cocooned in hardened resin.

Ripley had a sickening feeling she knew why.

“Please. K-kill me!”

“Just stay calm. We’re gonna get you outta here.” Dietrich tried pulling against the cocoon, “It’s gonna be all right. Give me a hand. We gotta get her outta here.”

“What is it, Dietrich?”

“The resin’s hard as hell-. Convulsion!”

“Dietrich, get back!”      

Ripley grabbed at her chest, and she heard herself sob, “No.”

“Get back!”

A piercing scream tore through everyone’s headsets.

Ripley couldn’t turn away, no matter how much she wanted too. Somehow it was happening again. Her nightmare was real. Again.

She clutched her chest even tighter, “No.” Cold sweat fell down her face, her eyes stung from tears, “God, no.”

The woman’s chest exploded and a small creature came shrieking out, shoving its murderous way into the world. Mercifully, the woman looked like she’d died already.

“No!”

“Frost, flamethrower. Kill it!” Apone ordered. “Get back! Flamethrower! Move!” Apone killed the infantile creature in an explosion of flame.

Ripley swallowed and tried to calm herself. She looked down at her chest. No, it wasn’t her. She felt guilty feeling glad for that fact when the poor colonist woman hadn’t been so lucky.

The alien’s death screams echoed through the chambers and around the nest.

Each marine looked up when a returning screech filled the air; deeper and coming from a great number.

Each marine stood their ground or moved to a more defensible position, flamethrowers at the ready. Hudson pulled out his motion detector.

“Movement!”

“What’s the position?” Apone demanded.

“I can’t lock in.”

“Get them out of there, Gorman,” Ripley looked to the lieutenant who had turned pale.

“Talk to me, Hudson!” Apone yelled.

“Uh, multiple signals. They’re closing.”

“Go to infrared, people. Look sharp!”

“Gorman?” Ripley tried again.

“What’s happening, Apone? I can’t see anything in here!” Gorman complained.

“Pull your team out, Gorman.” He didn’t respond.

Hudson’s voice cut into the pregnant pause, “I got signals. I got readings in front and behind.”

“Where, man? I don’t see shit,” Frost put in.

“He’s right. There’s nothing back here,” Hicks agreed.

“Look, I’m telling you. There’s something moving, and it ain’t us! Tracker’s off the scale, man. They’re all around us, man! Jesus!”

“Maybe they don’t show up on infrared at all,” Dietrich sighed then let out a loud scream.

Ripley looked to Dietrich’s viewscreen, but all she could see was snow.

Then Frost’s viewscreen went offline as well with another scream, and then another.

“Frost!”

“Come on!”

Ripley looked around at each of the viewscreens, trying to find out what was happening.

The sound of an explosion thundered in her ears, and two more screens went dead.

“Gorman!” she cursed.

“Dietrich, Frost and Crowe are down!” Hicks shouted.

Someone screamed.

“Wierzbowski! Wierzbowski!”

Wierzbowski’s screen went dead.

“Wierzbowski’s off the board too.”

“Let’s rock!” Vazquez cried out before the sound of her massive gun tore through her surrounds.

More screams, more firing, and more screens went dead.

“Who’s firing? Goddamn it! I ordered a hold-fire!” Gorman yelled into the comm. “Stop firing!”

“They’re coming out of the walls! They’re coming out of the goddamn walls!”

“Uh, Apone, I want you to lay a suppressing fire with the incinerators and fall back by squads to the APC.” He sighed, “Apone, are you copying me? I want you to lay down suppressing fire with the incinerators and fall back by squads-“

“Say again. All after ‘incinerator’.”

“I said I want you to lay down a suppressing fire with the incinerators and fall back by squads to the APC.”

Apone’s screen went dead.

“Help!”

“Sarge! Sarge!”

“Apone!”

“Talk to me. Apone?” Gorman said quietly. “Talk to me, Apone!”

By this time, Ripley was mad and desperate. She couldn’t just sit there and watch all of them die. “He’s gone! Gorman, do something! Get them out of there! Do it now!”

“Shut up!” Gorman snapped.

Ripley flicked her comm back on, “Hicks, who’s ever left, get the hell out of there-“

Her headset was ripped from her head, “Just shut up!”

“Goddamn it, Gorman!” Breathing hard she looked back at the monitors.

Only four were still alive; Hicks, Hudson, Drake, and Vasquez.

“It’s coming out of the fuckin’ walls!”

“Where’s Apone? Where’s Apone?”

“Sarge is dead. Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

“Let’s move it! Let’s go, marine! Move it! Move it!”

Gorman was lost. “Hudson? Vasquez?”

“Hudson, look out!” Hicks yelled, aiming his ancient shotgun at the enemy.

“Get it! Get it! Fry that fucker!”

“Watch it! Behind you!”

Gorman still mumbled their names in hopelessness, “Hicks?”

“Come on. Behind you! Fall back!”

“It got me!”

“I told them to fall back,” Gorman whispered.

“Fall back, goddamn it, now!”

“I told them to fall back,” Gorman whispered again.

“Hudson move your ass!”

“They’re cut off!” Ripley finally snapped, grabbing Gorman by his collar and screaming in his face, “Do something!”

“Let’s go, Marine!”

Ripley shoved the bewildered Gorman back down, “Fuck!”

Racing to the front of the APC, she pushed Newt back into her seat, and dropped the safety bar across her, “Hold on, Newt.”

Then climbing into the driver’s seat, she took but a moment to scan the controls and with a hard jolt the APC roared to life. She kicked it some more, squeezing every drop of acceleration out of the engine.

“Ripley! What the hell are you doing?” came Gorman.

She paid him no mind and fought against the controls to keep the vehicle straight on the road. It steered like a pig and her adrenaline flooded senses gave her no quarter, so she continued to push and fight against the enormously powerful machine.

Push and fight. And hopefully get there in time. She had to get to them fast if any of them were to get out alive.

“Turn around!” Gorman rushed beside her and grabbed the controls, “Turn around!”

The APC careened into the wall as she fought against Gorman’s hold, “They’ll die!”

“They’re dead already! Turn around, that’s an order!”

The APC hit the opposite wall.

“Get the fuck off!” she screamed at him.

The arse of the APC fishtailed and hit a pylon.

“Get off me, damn it!”

“Goddamn it, that’s an order!”

Suddenly, Gorman’s hold on the controls wavered and he was pulled away, “You had your chance, Gorman.”

 _Burke_?

Who would’ve thought?

Punching the throttle again, she pushed the engine even harder. Again she was fighting with the controls, but her fight with Gorman had given her focus and the controls were becoming easier.

There. Up ahead. That’s whereabouts they should be. “Hold on!” she cried, and braced her head as the APC went head on into the wall.

The APC came to a grinding halt and Ripley sat there blinking, her neck and head throbbing from the sudden deceleration.

From the outside, she could hear the hard, violent popping of Vasquez and Drake’s gun and the slightly more muted popping _ding-ding-ding_ of a pulse rifle. She’d made it. They were there!

She grabbed at the headset still dangling from her collar, and shouted at Burke, “Open the door!” Bringing the microphone to her mouth, she yelled, “Hicks! Are you there? We’re here!”

From the earpiece, she heard him, “Marines, we are leaving! Run for it!”

Moments later, she saw Hudson come through the door slung on the shoulder of Hicks, “Go, get in, go.”

Hicks dumped Hudson and returned to the door, “Come on!” He grabbed Vasquez and pulled her into the APC.

That left only Drake.

“Drake, come on!” cried Vasquez, then she fired her weapon. A soul-shattering scream came through the door, Vasquez adding her own, and flames swept in through the door. Ripley could do nothing but watch, primed ready to get them out of there as soon as someone told her they were all aboard.

“Fire in the hole!”

“He’s gone!”

Ripley’s heart sank. That scream must’ve been Drake.

“Put it out!” Hudson yelled, pointing to the fire still burning inside, “Put it out! Go! Go! Come on. Put it out!”

“Drake’s gone!

“No, he’s not!

“He’s gone!”

“No!”

“Forget him! He’s gone!”

Ripley turned away from them and wrenched the control into what she assumed was reverse.

“Get the goddamn door!”

At Hicks’ desperate order, Ripley whipped around to see a xenomorph right in Hicks’ face, trying to get into through the door. Her stomach dropped and she shook. No, this can’t be happening. They really were going to die.

Hudson and Vasquez swarmed around Hicks, pushing with all their might against the door, trying to force the alien out.

Hicks however, moved back slightly, and dropped to a knee, “Here, eat this!” His shot gun went off and Hudson screamed.

“Ripley? Go! Go! Go!”

Hitting the throttle, the APC jerked hard backwards, retracing their path out of the wall. Slamming on the brakes, she slipped it into forward and hit the throttle as hard as she could. The APC leapt forward and she fought hard to keep it straight on the road. Adrenaline once more pumped through her and all she could think about was getting out of there.

Get out! Get out now!

Something landed on the roof and the windshield shattered inwards and with it came a clawed appendage. She pushed herself as far back into the seat as possible then did the only thing she could.

She slammed on the brakes.

The alien went flying.

Without taking a moment to breathe, she kicked the throttle back in and the APC leapt forward, straight over the top of the creature.

Not sparing a thought, Ripley kept the throttle on max and weaved them through the station and then burst out the exit gates without anything more than a bump, following the road onto the broken up landscape that lay between them and the colony.

Her ears heard something break, metal clanging, grinding, but she didn’t care. They needed to get out. Get out and far away from those things.

“Ripley!” Hicks came up beside her, “It’s all right. We’re clear!” He tried to take the throttle from her but she resisted. She needed to get away, didn’t he understand?

“Ripley, you’ve blown the transaxle. You’re just grinding metal!”

Her eyes flicked to him.

He nodded, “It’s all right. Come on, ease down.” He took the throttle and slowly brought it down, “Ease down. Ease down.”

Ripley released her death grip on the controls with a shaky breath and Hicks gently brought the APC to a soft stop. “You all right?”

Ripley looked back to him. Why was he asking her? He was the one who just survived her worst nightmare. Still, he was waiting for her answer. Shakily, she nodded, “Yes.”

He gave a nod and raced back to check on the others. Ripley heard Newt cough and it drew her out of her stupor. Rising from her seat, she knelt in close, “You okay?”

Newt coughed again, probably from the smoke and gave her a thumbs up.

Giving her a pat, she got up again. Hudson had a horrible looking acid burn along his arm. Burke went to him armed with a medkit, but Hudson was in no mood for coddling, “Get away from me, man!”

Ripley patted Hudson’s good shoulder then looked at Vasquez. The woman gave her a nod. A thank you? She returned the gesture.

“Lieutenant?” Hicks called.

Ripley moved to kneel beside Hicks examining Gorman. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been unhurt. “What happened to Gorman?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a concussion.” Hicks looked at her, “But he’s alive.”

“No! He’s dead!” Vasquez pushed passed her and grabbed Gorman by the collar, “Wake up, pendejo, and then I’m going to kill you!” She raised her hand to strike him-

“Back off,” Hicks ordered, holding up his own arm against her and then added quietly, “Right _now_.”

Vasquez stopped instantly, looked at Hicks then shoved Gorman back down.

“Somebody get me a first-aid kit,” Hicks ordered, once more returning his attention to the man who would’ve left him for dead.

Ripley wanted to say something, but stopped herself. What good would that do? Instead, she quietly asked him, “What about you? Are you hurt?”

He glanced at her, his intense eyes fleetingly piercing hers, but then turned back to Gorman, “Not a scratch.”

“Hey!” Hudson moved over to the viewscreens, “hey, look. Sarge and Dietrich aren’t dead, man.”

Hicks got up to go look.

Ripley didn’t move, she already knew their terrible fate.

Hudson continued, “Their signs are real low, but they ain’t dead.”

Vasquez slapped the chair, “Then we go back in there and get them. We don’t leave our people behind.”

Hudson scoffed, “Fuck that!”

“We don’t leave our people behind!”

“I ain’t going back in there!”

Ripley interrupted the two of them, “You can’t help them!” She shook her head, “You can’t.” She looked to Hicks, “Right now they’re being cocooned, just like the others. Just like the colonist woman.”

Hicks stared at her in horror, “How long?”

“Hours but by the time we get back there-“

“They’d already be impregnated.”

Ripley gave him a slight nod.

Slowly Hicks turned back to look at the lifesigns monitors, muttering in defeat, “Fucking goddamn it.”

“Oh, dear lord Jesus. This ain’t happenin’, man. This can’t be happenin’, man. This isn’t happenin’! Not that shit! Not that shit! Not to the Sarge. Not to Dietrich! Those little fuckers, tearing out of them-”

“Hudson!”

Everyone stopped to look at Hicks, none more surprised than Hudson.

Hicks pointed across to the other side of the APC, “Sit.”

Immediately Hudson went over and sat down. Hicks swiped the medkit from Burke and began tending the acid burn on Hudson’s arm without further word.

Ripley watched him for a moment then went to tend Gorman.

It didn’t take long before Vasquez broke the silence, “The least we can do for them is end it before it happens. We level the station, kill everything inside.”

“That won’t do,” Hicks told her, his voice back to normal, “Anything we throw at the station will fry us too.” He looked at Ripley, “That was why Gorman had us sling our rifles?”

Ripley nodded, “Yes.”

A thought struck her and she frowned. Looking up as if the APC was transparent, she imagined she could see the Sulaco far above them with her naked eye.

Vasquez walked to the back of the APC then back to where she had been standing. Abruptly, she said, “All right. We’ve got seven canisters of CN-20. I say we roll them in there and nerve-gas the whole fucking nest.”

“That’s worth a try,” Hicks agreed but his tone gave no indication of confidence in Vasquez’s plan, “but we don’t even know if it’s gonna affect them.”

“Let’s just bug out and call it even, okay?” Hudson put out, “What are we talking about this for?”

“We’re not leaving our people to die like this!” Vasquez shouted.

Ripley lit a cigarette and took a real long calming drag then blew it out, “I say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit.”

She turned to face them when her suggestion was met with silence. However the look on their faces was not what she expected.

Hudson and Vasquez looked at her with utter glee. Hicks was astonished.

She shrugged at him, “It’s the only way to be sure.”

Hicks continued to stare at her and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Hudson, though, made his opinion quite clear, “Fu-ck-in’ ‘A’!”

“Hold on!” Burke came out of the woodwork, “Just hold on one second. This installation has a substantial dollar value attached it to and no one’s nuking anything!”

Ripley scoffed, “They can bill me.”

Burke rubbed his face and sat down, “Okay, look. This is an emotional moment for all of us, okay? I know that. But let’s not make any snap judgements, please.”

He stopped to watch Vasquez stalked over to him then continued making his argument to Ripley, “This is clearly – clearly an important species we’re dealing with, and I don’t think that you or I or anybody has the right to arbitrarily exterminate them.”

Ripley stepped forward in challenge, “Wrong.”

“Yeah, watch us,” Vasquez sniggered from close behind him, causing Burke to involuntarily shiver.

“Maybe you haven’t been keeping up on current events, tucked inside a nice cosy APC, but we just got our asses kicked, pal!”

Burke disregarded the marines, turning his attentions back to her, “Look, I’m not blind to what’s going on here, but I cannot authorise that kind of action. I’m sorry.”

Her lip twitched, her eyes sweeping off to look at the others. Burke was technically her superior, but she had another ace up her sleeve, “Well, I believe Corporal Hicks has authority here. So it’s not your authorisation to make.”

Burke laughed, “ _Corporal_ Hicks is?“

“This operation is under military jurisdiction, and Hicks is next in chain of command.” She turned to look at the Corporal, “Am I right, Corporal?”

Hicks was stunned. His face was awash with disbelief and he broke eye contact, “Yeah.” He nodded slowly, “Yeah, that’s right.”

He seemed disappointed; resigned.

Was that all he had to offer? He was not the only one to be disappointed then. Ripley ground her teeth; some ace up her sleeve. It seemed she had been wrong about him after-all. Ripley’s ace had proved a joker.

Pretty men; all flash, no substance.

Burke jumped on Hicks’ lack of enthusiasm, “Yeah. Look, Ripley. This is a multimillion-dollar installation, okay? He can’t make that kind of decision.”

Ripley blinked, “Can’t he?” Even if Hicks wasn’t up to taking command, he was still better than having Burke calling the shots.

Burke looked over to Hicks who remained silent beside Hudson, staring out into nothing, his face passive.

“He’s just a grunt!”

Hicks snapped his attention back to Burke, but his face still impassive.

Burke held up his hand, probably realising the marine could turn him inside out with just his thumb, “Uh, no offence.”

“None taken,” Hicks said immediately, surprising them with his soft but clear tone. Obviously he wasn’t as raddled as he appeared. “Ferro, do you copy?”

“Standing by.”

He continued to speak into his headset, calm and commanding, “Prep for dust off. We’re gonna need immediate evac at our location.”

“Roger. On our way.”

“You’re right, Burke,” Hicks’ green eyes focussing on Burke, “You can’t make decisions like this on the spur of the moment. There’s so much to consider.”

“Yes, thank you!” Burke waved at him in victory.

Hicks looked back to her and then back to Burke, “And so I’ve thought about it.” His demeanour was so cool, his tone so soft, Burke didn’t see the hammer falling, “I say we’ll take off. Nuke the site from orbit.” He looked directly at her, his intense eyes piercing as if he’d seen every one her doubts about him and shrugged, “It’s the only way to be _sure_.”

Ripley felt herself soften, her mouth curving into the beginnings of a smile. No, she hadn’t wasted her ace. What she’d seen of him hadn’t been a fluke or an illusion. Hicks was the real deal.

“Fuckin’ oath!” Hudson grinned, “Nuke the fuckers!”

Burke paled and took an angry step towards Hicks, whose brow rose in amusement. Ripley’s did too. Burke had to be a half-foot shorter and thirty-five kilos slighter than Hicks. Burke must’ve realised this too and backed off.

Instead he stuck to words, “This is absurd! You seriously cannot be thinking of dropping a nuke on a colony!”

“Just a little one,” Hicks eyes gleamed but his voice remaining calm, “but big enough.” He put his hands together, smiled and pushed them apart, “ _Whoosh._ Bye-bye bugs. _”_

Ripley grinned but Burke didn’t share in her appreciation of Hicks patronising display and once again advanced on him, “You cannot be serious! What gives you the right to decide the fate of an entire species? You don’t have the authority! Do you even understand what’s at stake here?”

Hicks was unflappable, “Authority? I most certainly do. Understand?” he chuckled, “How could I? I’m just a _grunt_.”

“You’re crazy! You do this and your pathetic little life is over-“

Burke stopped dead at the sound of a loud _clack_ ; Vasquez powered up her pulse rifle and swang it up in his general direction. “Careful _mierda_.”

Ripley watched with abated breath, unsure if Vasquez wasn’t just bluffing. She didn’t think she was.

Hicks stood up, bending his neck to avoid the roof and walked over to where the some containers had fallen, “Hudson, Vasquez, get Gorman onto a stretcher.”

Burke stepped after him, “We’re not done talking about this!”

Vasquez stepped in front of him, her eyes hard and her face even harder. She petted her weapon, “Time for talking is over, Company-man.”

Ripley stepped up to them, hoping to diffuse the tension, “Come on, Burke. Hicks is in command. You just have to accept it.”

Burke looked at her murderously.

She shrugged, “Or you can continue to provoke three heavily armed and very pissed off marines.”

Finally he sighed resigned and shook his head, “fine. Be it on your heads.”

Sorting though the containers, Hicks called over to her, “Ripley? Would you mind carrying some of these?”

Ripley kept her eyes on Burke as she walked around him, but he offered no more. She crouched down next to Hicks.

“Here, take only what you can carry from this pile. Leave the rest.”

She nodded and started loading the containers into her arms.

“Keep the girl close,” he said quietly.

She looked to him. There was something about his posture, the set in his eyes that troubled her.

“Once we go outside and until we’re on the dropship, keep her close. And stick to the back of one of us. If something happens, drop the containers; they’re dead weight you don’t need.”

“You think they’ll be out there waiting?”

He gave her a humourless smile, “Maybe I’m just the cautious type.”

Ripley looked beyond him to where Hudson and Vasquez were loading the unconscious Gorman onto a pulled out stretcher. If only Gorman had been the cautious type.

Hicks shook his head marginally, “Don’t be concerned about that now. Let’s just get off this goddamned planet first, all right?”

“All right,” Ripley hesitated, “What about Burke?”

“Wouldn’t worry. He’s smart enough to know we’re all that stands between him and the aliens.”

When she nodded, he stood up and walked over to the others, “Let’s do it. Burke, grab an end. Vasquez, you’re point.”

As the three men hefted the stretcher up, Vasquez rechecked her rifle then opened the door.

“Newt,” Ripley called, “Come grab one of these and walk with me, okay? Stay beside me.”

Newt ran over, grabbed a container and stuck to her side as they both followed the others out into the rough winds of the planet. “Stay with me,” she warned.

Newt nodded over the container she was bear-hugging. They continued to walk carefully away from the APC. Around them was dirt and rocks, the sky dark, but luckily no zenomorphs.

About thirty metres from the APC, Hicks called a halt. “All right. Set him down here. Vasquez?”

They somewhat carefully put the stretcher to the ground. Keeping close to Hudson and Vasquez, Ripley put down the cases and told Newt to do the same. She kept a firm grasp on the girl’s arm. “Keep a tight hold, Newt.”

“Clear, man,” Vasquez reported, “maybe they don’t like fresh air?”

“Let’s not be here to find out,” Ripley said, keeping an eye on Burke. Despite what Hicks said, she didn’t trust the man.

The prospect of millions of dollars did evil things to people.

Hicks pulled out a flare, “Keep your guard up.” He lit it and tossed it. Then another.

“I can hear it,” Newt whispered at her side.

Ripley squinted against the wind and the glare of Hicks’ flares to try and spot Ferro’s dropship. By now she could hear it too. “There is it,” she told Newt, “we’ll be safe soon.”

Squinting, she could’ve sworn she saw the ship wiggle, “Hicks?”

She dared not drag her eyes from the ship as it truly wobbled this time then banked to the side, “Hicks?”

One of the landing struts struck a rock.

“Run!” both Ripley and Hicks yelled together.

Ripley snatched Newt into her arms and turned to look for cover. There was a large set of boulders to her right and she threw herself behind it. Tucking Newt under her, she could hear the awful nightmarish sound of the crashing ship coming closer.

It was about to hit when something impacted her back. It was rigid, hard edges digging into her skin but warm. It had legs and arms. Strong arms surrounding her like a metal cage, keeping her under him. He was using his body and combat armour to protect her.

Hearing the ship soaring terribly over them and feeling the searing heat pass over them, Ripley tried to move.

But the weight of the body on top of her held her down. Strong hands and vice like arms didn’t budge.

Against the deafening noise of the still crashing ship, she heard him yell, “Stay still! Wait!”

Wait for what-?

A tremendous explosion roared through her ears and shook the ground under her, and beneath her Newt squealed in terror. As much as she could she held the girl tighter.

Another explosion filled the air. And another. The air around them grew hotter and hotter and she snuggled both her and Newt further into the cover of Hicks body.

The dropship was jam-packed with an entire arsenal. The heat was almost unbearable and Ripley was at once very glad for Hicks and his armour sheltering them and she dared not move until he allowed her too.

Eventually Hicks eased himself up, retracting his arms and allowing her to sit up. The air was still hot but nowhere near as it had been.

Hicks watched the burning, his face betraying his disbelief. But then he schooled his features, looking over her and Newt before jumping up to go check on the others.

“Are you alright?” she asked the girl.

Newt nodded, her face was wet from crying, “I thought it was going to hit us.”

Ripley pulled them both to their feet and brushed her down a little, just to make sure there was no shrapnel hits on her. There was none. She checked herself. There was none on her either.

Glancing at Hicks, she wondered if he’d suffered any hits but remained silent.

She looked around them. The landscape was littered with metal and fires. The APC had been struck too. Vasquez and Hicks were busy kicking away burning wreckage from Gorman and stomping on fires.

Even the containers she and Newt had carried out of the APC hadn’t escaped. By the looks of the strewed mess littering the ground, all of the gear they’d gotten from the APC had either exploded or been decimated by the impact.

Hudson started mewling, “Well, that’s great. That’s fucking great, man. Now what the fuck are we supposed to do? We’re in some real pretty shit now, man!”

Hicks grabbed Hudson and wrenched him forward, “Are you finished?”

When Hudson nodded, he let him go. He looked at her and moved towards her, “You all right?”

“Yes,” she gave a small uncomfortable nod and moved away following Newt.

She was lying. She wasn’t all right. Hicks knew it by how he looked at her. But none of them were okay.

“I guess we’re not going to be leaving now, right?”

Ripley looked to Newt and moved in closer, trying to be comforting, “I’m sorry, Newt.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. It wasn’t your fault.”

There was an inner strength to the little girl that comforted her and helped to fortify her own resolve. She breathed in. They weren’t dead yet.

“What the fuck are we gonna do now? What are we gonna do?”

Ripley swallowed in frustration at Hudson’s mewling. She was getting real sick of it.

“Maybe we could build a fire. Sing a couple of songs, huh? Why don’t we try that?” Burke put in, not helping.

Fear was expected, but if they wanted to survive they had to overcome it. Not give themselves over to it.

“We’d better get back ‘cause it’ll be dark soon, and they mostly come at night, mostly.”

Ripley looked to Newt then to Hicks who’d come to stand behind them.

He’d heard Newt’s advice.

“All right,” he nodded in the direction of the APC, “The fire’s dying down enough. We’ll salvage what we can then head back.”

“Salvage what?” Burke scoffed, “scrap metal?”

“And maybe something else,” Hicks’ tone didn’t change but his eyes went hard, “You coming or staying?”

“Don’t be funny,” the Company rep sneered.

“I won’t,” Hicks mocked quietly, “Not here. This isn’t a funny place.”

Burke rolled his eyes and scoffed again but under his breath this time. He moved to follow the others towards the ruined APC.

“Ripley?” Hicks asked.

Ripley glanced at him. He was waiting for her to follow. There was something she wanted to say, to ask. In her nightmares she’d seen her chest explode so, so many times. Ending up like that just wasn’t an option.

She wanted him to vow she wouldn’t.

“Ripley?” he stepped forward, but he didn’t press her to speak, even though she saw his question in his eyes. He jerked his head, “Come on. Keep close.”

Taking a calming breath, Ripley retook Newt’s hand they headed back to the APC together.

“Bishop?” Hicks spoke into his headset as her walked by her side. “We’re coming to you. Get to a window; we’ll need you to guide us in.”

Hicks face fell a little.

“What is it?” Ripley murmured.

He shook his head, “What do you mean you’re unarmed?”

Ripley closed her eyes in frustration too. Why would Bishop not have a weapon?

“Get to the command centre, and keep watch for any xenomorphs between us and the lock.” Hicks’ eyes narrowed, “No one’s expendable, Bishop. Be careful.”

“Bishop is unarmed?”

“Eight bodies, three guns. Goddamn fantastic,” she heard him mutter as they reached the APC.

Vasquez and Hudson put Gorman’s stretcher down and went about searching for anything useful.

Hicks’ had again schooled his features and spoke to the two other marines, “All right, hurry up. Bishop’ll be our spotter. Vasquez you’ll be point.”

“You got it, man.”

“Hudson, you’ll cover our rear.” Hicks looked to her.

“In the middle and stay close?” she asked.

He nodded. “All right, people. Move out. Stay sharp.”


	6. Digging In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who reviewed/kudos etc. Sorry about the wait. Very guilty letting too much time fly by before updating - I blame my other story; so many more characters shouting out for a voice! I do love the Ripley/Hicks dynamic though and love delving into the complexities of their early relationship.
> 
> And I love writing Hicks! Figure out what he wants to say, write it, cut out words, cut out more words, revise, cut, revise, cut. It's like creating a multi-layered cake! 
> 
> Hmm . . . maybe I should go back again to revise, maybe cut some more . . .

The way was rocky, the wind pesky, and there were ominous dark shadows everywhere in sight, but the walk back to the colony compound wasn’t anywhere near to being as bad as Hicks feared.

Bishop kept a running commentary on their clear path and Hicks held a sharp eye out for tracks in the dirt.

So far he hadn’t spotted any.

Maybe Vasquez was right; xenomorphs didn’t much like being out in the open.

“Anything?” he asked quietly. The silence kept him on edge, his mind and body remaining on heightened alert. Not surprisingly, really, after the hell they’d only just gone through.

And now the silence and the impending darkness of nightfall made him paranoid.

But his paranoia was a not a bad thing; after thirteen years he’d learnt to trust his gut and his paranoia. It kept him frosty; never giving him a second to slack off. Slacking off gets you killed.

He glanced around him. Or gets others killed.

“Nothing, man,” Vasquez answered just as quietly, her head moving to scan the whole area around them.

“You’re clear, Corporal,” Bishop buzzed in through his earpiece. “Keep coming. Three hundred and fifty metres to the lock.”

“Copy,” Hicks answered. “Stay alert and check for hidey-holes. We don’t want anything getting the drop on us.”

Vasquez stroked her rifle with a poorly contained thirst for vengeance, but she still gave an affirmative nod.

Hudson for once remained silent. Hicks narrowed his eyes, “Hudson?”

“Affirmative.”

He studied the younger man. Hudson wasn’t normally quiet.

Hicks would have to keep an eye on him.

At the head of the stretcher, Burke stumbled on a rock and cursed, “Can’t someone else take this? He weighs a ton.”

“Sure, Burke,” he tried not to snigger, “you take a rifle and shoot anything that’ll fly out at us.”

Vasquez sniggered, “Yeah, no thanks Hicks. I ain’t gonna be killed by friendly-fire.”

Burke stumbled again, “This is crazy!”

“Keep-your-voice-down,” Hicks grounded out a low warningly. Burke was a dick, but now he was Hicks’ unfortunate responsibility to keep alive. “It’s not far now. Hang tough.”

They all were his responsibility now. Three civilians, two grunts, one wounded lieutenant, and a synthetic, surrounded by an unknown force of bad-ass bugs with next to no weapons and no escape.

Not quite the glorious return to command for Hicks.

“Here, Burke,” Ripley stepped up to the head of the stretcher and took one of the sides. She wasn’t nearly as strong as Burke was but it did ease Burke’s burden enough to stop his complaining. Even little Newt took a handhold and tried to help.

Hicks could almost smile.

She was a surprising woman. He’d noticed as much already, and now he was sure as hell. If it weren’t for her, he, Hudson and Vasquez would be dead, or cocooned and awaiting a horrific death.

Just like the rest of his team.

Just like Dietrich and Apone.

He sighed quietly to himself and refixed his grip on the stretcher. There was no point dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. He only hoped they wouldn’t suffer long.

“Ease up here,” he ordered softly. There were coming up on the built up area just outside the compound. “Burke, Ripley, stay here with Gorman. Vas, you and I will recci. Hudson, you’re guard.”

Not quite dumping his end of Gorman’s stretcher to the ground, he swung up his rifle and went to join Vasquez ahead, “Stay sharp,” he told Hudson, eyeing the man as he passed him.

Hudson seemed focused, at least for now.

“If we’re not back in five, assume the worst.”

Hudson nodded.

“Maybe we should stay together?” Ripley edged closer to him.

Hicks glanced at Ripley; she didn’t sound or look scared, but he’d learnt just how good she was at hiding it. Coming here and facing all this had to be her worst nightmare come true. He wasn’t sure he’d have done the same. “Gotta check our way is clear. Stay here. We’ll be back.”

Stealthy, he and Vasquez stalked out into the shadows. The run to the lock was not far and with a lot of open space, it would make the crossing easier.

Of course, once inside, there was no telling there wasn’t a goddamn army of aliens lying in wait for them. But he couldn’t do anything about that now.

After they’d made a quick but silent circle around the door, he signalled to Vasquez and they returned to the others.

“It looks clear. Still we’ll need to move quickly and _quietly_ ,” he glanced significantly at Burke. “Hudson, you’re point, get that door open. Vasquez, you’ll cover our ass.” He took up the end of the stretched again, Burke, Ripley and Newt taking the other end. “Let’s go. Quickly and quietly.”

When they’d made their across the compound and reached the door, Hicks suddenly realised he’d held his breath the entire way. Quietly he relaxed his burning lungs and drew in fresh, cool air.

He’d really expected an ambush.

Still did. His gut told him inside the complex was not where he wanted to be. But then, nowhere on the planet did he want to be.

They had nowhere else to go.

Hudson went to open the lock for them and Vasquez dropped back behind Hicks, keeping her rifle primed ready for an attack.

Hicks took the weight of the stretcher with his right hand and brought up his own rifle to bear on the shadows. If something did come at them, he had no qualms about dropping Gorman on his ass. Hell, he might’ve even enjoyed it were it not for the situation.

If Hicks’ confidence in his command had taken any hit by his recent demotion, he took solace in knowing he couldn’t be any worse than Gorman.

Shit, it was because of a man like Gorman Hicks’d faced a court-martial and was busted back to corporal.

He gritted his teeth, _and lost his one chance making lieutenant._

The sound of the door sliding open cut through his mental bickering and he steadied his hold on the stretcher. No, as much as he’d love to drop Gorman a few times, he wouldn’t. Hicks’d made his mistake and paid for it; just as Gorman would upon their return to Earth. There was little point in indulging in petty grievances.

Especially when they’d need Gorman to hold a steady weapon when he woke.

The way was clear, so far.

Dropping his rifle to his side again, he retook the stretcher with both hands and they all walked in through the door and back into the compound.

“Bishop?” he spoke quietly into his comm.

“I’m here, Corporal.”

“Come give us a hand with Gorman. Take him to medical. Patch him up. We’re gonna need him.”

Vasquez snorted behind him.

“I’m on way.”

“Put him down here,” he told Ripley and Burke. “Hudson, you’ll mind the fort and get your arm checked. Vas and I’ll return to the APC wreckage, pick up any kit with left behind.”

He didn’t need to order Hudson to lock the door behind them; he was already at the controls, tapping his foot and muttering ‘come on, come on’.

 

 

“That’s everything, right?” He looked at Vasquez. She looked as miserable as he felt.

It wasn’t good. It had taken three trips, but with no civilians to cover, and no unconscious lieutenant to haul, Vasquez and Hicks completed their task in short order.

And with no sign of the bugs.

“All right,” he looked around the room; they were all present except for Gorman who was still unconscious and Burke who’d volunteered to watch Gorman. “This is absolutely everything that we could salvage out of the APC wreckage. We got four pulse rifles with about fifty rounds each. That ain’t so good. We got, uh, fifteen of these M-40 grenades.”

He saw Newt reaching for one, “Don’t touch that!” He reached over and took the grenade from her. “Really dangerous, honey,” he cautioned, slipping her one of the combat helmets instead.

Instantly Newt put the helmet on with a smile, her small head dwarfed side the man-sized helmet.

“Is that the only flamethrower?” Ripley asked beside him.

“Yeah. It’s only half full, but it’s functional. We got another one, but its damaged. I don’t know about that one yet. I gotta take a look at it.” He looked over at the four big cases, “The good news – we got four of these robot sentries,” he lifted the lid on the top one to show Ripley, “with display and scanners intact.” He nodded to them, “They really kick ass. I think they’ll come in handy. We’ll just need to set them up in the position to do the most damage.”

“At the fuckin’ front door, man!” Hudson pointed.

Vasquez rolled her eyes but said nothing.

“We’ll need to be a little more _strategic_ , Hudson,” Hick explained patiently. “First we gotta figure how they’re getting in. We figure that out then we can hold tight in here.”

“How long after we’re declared overdue can we expect a rescue?”

Hicks looked back to Ripley. He glanced at Vasquez, hesitating to tell them the truth. But he sighed and told them, “Seventeen days.”

“Seventeen days?!” Hudson cried, “Hey, man, I don’t wanna rain on your parade, but we’re not gonna last seventeen hours!”

Hicks eyes narrowed at Hudson but his warning was lost this time.

“Those things are gonna come in here like they did before. They’re gonna come in here and they’re gonna get us! And they’re gonna do to us like they did to Sarge and-”

“Hudson!” Ripley suddenly yelled over the top of him, surprising both Hicks and Vasquez. “Hudson!” When Hudson shut up she pointed to Newt, her eyes still ablaze, “This little girl survived longer than that with no weapons and no training!” She looked down at Newt, “Right?”

Newt, still wearing one of their helmets looked over at Hudson and gave him a cheeky mock salute.

Hudson laughed humorlessly, “Why don’t you put her in charge?!”

“You better just start dealing with it, Hudson. Listen to me. Hudson, just deal with it because we need you and I’m sick of your bullshit.” She edged closer to and pointed to the operations room, “Now I want you to get on a terminal and call up some kind of floor-plan file. Do you understand? Construction blueprints. I don’t care. Anything that shows the layout of this place. Are you listening?”

“Yeah.”

“I need to see air ducts. I need to see electrical access tunnels, sub-basements, every possible way into this complex.” She paused, “We don’t have much time.”

“Okay.” Hudson stood up straight, “Okay, I’m on it.”

“Hudson,” Ripley stressed, “Just relax.”

Hudson took a deep breath and walked out to get to his task. As soon as he left the room, Ripley faced Hicks with an apology on her face, “Sorry.”

Hicks frowned, “What for?”

She shrugged uncomfortably but didn’t answer.

Well he could guess anyway. “Look,” he said gently, “I’m a big boy. You say or do something I don’t agree with and you’ll know it. And we’ll discuss it. We can even argue if that’s your thing. But so far I happen to agree with you.” He waved in the direction of the departed Hudson, “We’ll take turns. I gotta save my singing voice.”

Ripley gently grinned, “Okay.”

From the other side of the table, Vasquez cleared her throat, reminding them she was present.

Hicks didn’t miss a beat, “Vas, once Hudson comes up with the goods we can start working on a perimeter. So we’re gonna need more gas for the welders. Lots more.”

“You got it, man,” she turned and left the room.

“I’ll be in medlab,” Bishop piped up out of nowhere, “I’ll check on Gorman. Continue my analysis.”

“Fine. You do that,” muttered Ripley.

Hicks stared at her and waited until Bishop was out of the room before asking, “Don’t like synthetics much?”

Ripley set her jaw and looked away from him.

That was an affirmative.

“So, what are we to do?”

Hicks looked at his watch, “I’ll give Hudson another minute.”

“What?” she asked in surprise. “He only just left.”

Hicks gave her a mock-patient look, “Did say he’s good at his job. Gotta be a reason I’d deal with his bullshit every day.”

That cute smile once again crept to her lips, but didn’t last. Stepping in close to him, her face grew serious once more, “We should keep Burke busy,” he was about to disagree and put her hands of her hips, “I know he seems harmless, but trust me, I know his type. And there’s something, something about this whole situation that doesn’t make any sense.”

He arched himself back to stare at her, “What in this whole fucked up situation makes sense?”

“No, Hicks, don’t you see? They knew something. Colonies are not without defences; we’ve seen the evidence, they put up fight and failed. And yet only one marine unit was sent to investigate? No backup and seventeen days away from rescue. And me? Why send me here unless they knew about the aliens?”

He arched an eyebrow, “Maybe they thought one unit would be enough.”

Ripley did not blink, “This was not minor trouble with local indigenous life-forms, or terrorists, or problems with a piracy. The colonists had weapons, training. Anything to silence them so quickly and without word had to be significant.”

He slowly shook his head but kept eye contact, “Doesn’t mean they weren’t taken by surprise.”

“Oh, come on, with the information they had, would you only send one unit with no support, seventeen days from any help?”

“Ripley,” he soothed, “it’s not as simple as you make out-“

“Would you?” she demanded.

Hicks’ sighed, “No, I wouldn’t’ve,” then rushed to add, “but I’m just a corporal. I don’t get to make the orders, only follow them.”

“Yes and why is that?”

Hicks blinked, “Why is what?”

“Why are you _just_ a corporal?”

Hicks felt steel bleed into his face and had to forcibly kept it from spreading to his voice, “Because that’s the way it is.”

There was definitely something more she wanted to say, but didn’t. She rubbed her temples, “One unit of marines and a green lieutenant-“

“Gorman is still an officer. Yes, he made mistakes-“

“Mistakes?”

“-and he will answer for them.”

“And when he wakes? What then?”

“That’s up to him. He’s still my CO.”

Ripley looked at him with that same look of disappointment she’d levelled at him in the APC. He stepped a little closer to her and tried again, “We’re not a part of some conspiracy here. I don’t know why only us were sent. My _only_ concern right now is getting everybody outta here alive. All right?”

“Hicks,” she argued, “You have to admit, something’s not right about all this.”

He looked away from her with a shake of his head and rested his hands on his hips. Truthfully- “Yeah,” he admitted finally, “yeah, okay, things don’t seem to add up. But there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

When he turned back to her, the disappointment had vanished from her face, so too was the accusation. He hated seeing either directed at him; he was not the bad guy here. “Look, whatever’s meant to go on here, it didn’t happen. No one would’ve planned for this. Let’s just focus on surviving and worry about this when we’re light-years from the bugs.”

“ _Has_ to be something to do with the creatures in the medlab.” Ripley nodded with a new thought, “There has to be some evidence here.”

He was about to ask her what evidence when Hudson poked his head in, “Yo, Hicks. Ripley. I got it all; floor plans, construction blueprints, even the kid’s school lunch menu.”

“About time,” he told Hudson without sparing him a glance. Stepping away from Ripley, he waved her forward. “Come on,” he encouraged lightly, “we got work to do.”

They followed Hudson out of the room to where he’d set up the layout on a vertical viewscreen.

Vasquez was there waiting for them, standing silently and eyeing him. She flicked her eyes across to the other side of the room to where Burke came walking in.

He gave her a slight nod. Vasquez was the master of stealth and no doubt heard at least some of his conversation with Ripley. “All right, Hudson. Show us what you’ve got.”

Ripley took over the viewscreen controls. “So we know they don’t like the outside much,” she stated, moving the zooming out on the compound plans.

“That’s right,” he agreed. “We spotted no tracks on our walk in or around the compound grounds.”

“Which means they’ve found a way in undercover.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “Something the colonists would’ve missed.”

She paused the plan view, “So this service tunnel leads from the processing station to the sublevel here in the compound.”

“Yeah, it’s gotta be how they’re moving back and forth.” He pointed where the tunnel met the complex, “Get us close in there.”

“Come down on that,” Hudson showed her the controls. “Okay, now come over. Hold. Go back. Okay, punch that in right there.”

Something brushed Hicks’ side. Looking down he saw Newt staring up at him with hopeful eyes. Picking her up and sitting her down on the table, he looked back at the viewscreen to see they’d lost their mark, “No. It’s back here.”

“Uh, okay,” Ripley corrected the controls and the viewscreen tracked back on the correct direction. “Well, there’s a pressure door at this end. Couldn’t we put one of the remote sentry units in the tunnel and seal the door?”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” he agreed, “but we gotta figure on them getting into the complex.”

“That’s right, so we repair the barricades at these two intersections.”

“Right.”

“And weld plate steel over these ducts here, and here, and here. That way they can only come at us from these two corridors.”

Bottleneck them. Not a bad plan. Obviously civilian officer training wasn’t as lacking as he enjoyed loudly insinuating, “Right, but then we’ll need to do the same here and here, cutting off access there.”

She gave a nod, “right.”

He continued, “All right, then we put the other sentry units here and here.”

“Right. Yes.”

“Right.” He looked at her, it really wasn’t a bad plan at all. “Outstanding,” and he meant it. “Now all we need is a deck of cards,” he smiled, staring into her face with a touch of admiration.

It was only when she turned away from him in discomfort and slid herself back from him, did he realise just how physically close they’d gotten hovering over the display.

At once he stood up, looking away from Ripley and giving her space. He immediately addressed his subordinates, “All right, people. Let’s move like we got a purpose. Vasquez, you and Hudson set out the guns, I’ll program them from here, then start on the barricades.”

“Affirmative,” Hudson answered.

To his right he heard a cute little affirmative, and helped her down off the table, “Wanna help, sweetheart?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

He looked at Burke and kept his voice natural, “Burke? Need you to start plundering; food, water, blankets, medicines, anything and everything you can possibly find and think we’ll need.” He looked back down at Newt, “Go with Burke. Show him where all the food is kept? Think you can do that?”

Her eyes lit up, “I know where _all_ the food is kept.”

“Don’t go too far now,” he told her firmly,  “You’ll stay with Burke and show him?”

She did another little mock-salute, “Affirmative.”

Hicks smirked, “Good girl.”

“I’ll go too.”

Ripley walked over and took Newt’s hand, leading her off. He frowned. Sure Burke was a dick, and may or may not know something more about what’s going on here, but harm a kid?

He sighed, dropped down on a seat and pulled out a mini tool-kit from one of his numerous pockets. It was time to see if the second flamethrower was salvable. If they were indeed going to survive the next seventeen days, they’d need every advantage they could get.

After about half an hour, Vasquez and Hudson reported  they had the first two guns set up.

“Hudson here. AMB sentries A and B in place and keyed.”

Setting aside his repairs, he went about setting up the guns automation, “Roger. Stand by.”

Hicks hadn’t been lying about the four guns being good news. In truth though, to hold the bugs at bay with any measure of certainty, they needed _dozens_. Not four. Ripley’s plan to bottle up the creatures access to the compound was clever but relied on there not being something they’d missed.

And when it came to people’s lives, Hicks didn’t like making any assumptions. However with only four sentries, four pulse rifles and maybe two incinerators, there was not much more they could do. “Arming now. Test it, Hudson.”

Hicks could hear the rapid fire of the sentries even from the command centre.

“Testing successful. Moving to next position.”

“Copy,” Hicks replied, moving back to his work on the incinerator.

Within another twenty minutes, Hudson and Vasquez had sent up the second set of guns, and after another successful test, Hicks ordered them back to the command centre.

“I heard the guns go off, so I assume we’re set?” Ripley’s voice broke through the silence surrounding Hicks.

He watched her approach then went back to his work, “This is just about ready to go. From your report, you’re pretty apt with one?”

“Just don’t ask me to repair it.” She leaned in to peer closer, “But from the looks of things, you won’t.”

“Weapons, machines, they’re all the same to me.”

“You marines know both pretty well.”

“Marines are good with weaponry. Machines not so much. Mostly they tend to break ‘em.”

“Not you though.”

Satisfied with his repairs, he set down the solder and probe and began reassembling with practiced ease, “Thank my schooling - Taught reading, writing, counting, working the machines, fixing the machines, and not much else.”

Ripley noticeably hesitated, “So you did work in the mines?”

“Started when I was twelve.”

There was an even longer pause. “Look, sorry about jumping down your throat before-“

“Hey,” he stopped her, briefly forgetting the incinerator to look up at her, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just worry about getting out of here first?”

The corners of her mouth curled upwards, “Okay.”

He threaded back on the covering plate-

“So how did you end up here? A marine I mean?” she asked coolly.

His hands froze in surprise.

“and not a _pastry chef_?”

Hicks lifted his head to meet her gaze. Women weren’t ever interested in a marine’s story, and in Hicks’ case most either thought him beneath their notice, or just wanted to be _beneath_ him. Being handsome he’d had all the quick fucks with smart, beautiful women he’d fancied, but all of who in the end wanted nothing more to do with him.

None asked anything personal.

Ripley though – So closed off, mistrustful, yet repeatedly sought him out to talk? Ask him questions?

“Not much to tell,” he sat back in his chair, “USMC recruiters landed and fifty of us left with them. Most were underage.”

“Fifty?”

“Once word got out, everyone dropped what they were doing and ran for the dock. No time to see the folks; just ran.”

“How old were you?” she frowned.

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen!” she gasped.

He shrugged, “I was big for my age, big enough to almost look eighteen. A little fudging on the paperwork and suddenly I was a scrawny eighteen year-old from someplace I’d never heard of and told to lose the accent.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere in America called Lincoln, Nebraska.”

She smiled, “You’ve never been there?”

He put a smoke to his lips, and then offered her one. Screw it, he was gonna run out anyway. “Nope.”

She took a smoke with another pretty smile, “What if someone asks questions about it-?”

He scoffed, handing her his lighter, “ _No one_ asks marines questions.”

“Oh,” she said and lit her cigarette. He could see her brain working. Finally she blew out languidly, “Is that why you signed up as an enlisted? Because you were underage?”

His brow rose in surprise, but he didn’t insult her by pretending he didn’t understand her meaning. She’d touched on this earlier so he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Shouldn’t be, but he was. “Recruits from backwater mining colonies don’t end up officers, no matter their aptitude test scores.”

“You scored well.” It wasn’t question.

“I was told to work hard, do my duty and maybe, just maybe an opportunity would open up.”

“And did it?” she asked warily.

Hicks looked back down at the incinerator, “It did and didn’t.”

She was smart enough to drop it. “You could tell I was from _Luna_?”

“No,” he admitted, screwing in one of the last remaining screws, “I read your file.”

“You did?” Ripley laughed lightly, obviously not taking any offence, “When?”

“Just before we left Gateway.”

“Why?”

“I was curious. Second NCO’s privilege.”

“Really?” she said in disbelief, “And it lists my place of birth as Luna?”

“I read the _restricted_ version.”

“Ah.” Again, if she was offended, she didn’t show it. “So how does it read these days?”

“Sparse,” he teased, scanning over the weapon for a good three count before looking at her, “for eighty-eight years.”

“Well,” she crossed her arms, “that’s what a sixty year- hypersleep does to one’s life.”

Hicks held out the flamethrower, “This one’s ready to go. We’ll keep the half full one here in reserve, in case you need it.”

Ripley took it with a familiar ease, her eyes giving it a quick scan. “I’d have loved to see what you could’ve done to the _Nostromo_ ,” she said with clear admiration.

He smiled, perhaps more than just a little bit chuffed. “Big difference,” he pointed out, collecting all his bits and mini-tools, placing them back into his kit.

Ripley mused, looking around them, “Not really. Technology hasn’t changed much in sixty years. Everything’s practically the same. A little bit more automation.”

“Yo, Hicks. We finished sealing the tunnels, and the sentries are hot,” Hudson and Vasquez came striding into the command centre, “You fixed the flamethrower? Cool man.”

Hicks got up from his seat and held out his hand, “Hudson, you and Vas keep things here. I’ll start on barricades.”

Hudson passed the welding torch back to Hicks, “Sure thing.”

He went to grab the complex plan printout Hudson made but Ripley got to it first and started to lead the way, “Let’s go.”

Hicks eyed her but said nothing, quickly following her obediently with a secret smirk. “Where to first?”

“I count nine positions-.”

“Yeah, like I said I can count too.”

“So,” she continued, but with a small laugh, “we can start here and make our way around. It’ll take some time-”

“You got somewhere else to be?”

Ripley looked sideways at him, “Not unless you know of any good beaches around here?”

“Yeah,” he snorted, “it’s real nice. Local wildlife isn’t too friendly though.” Hicks let her go through the door first then followed her into the corridor. The tension must be getting to him if he was joking at a time like this.

“Always the way.”

Because it really wasn’t the time for fooling around. “But I hear the menu is to _die_ for.”

She laughed, louder this time. The tension must be getting to her too because his jokes weren’t even funny.

 

It had taken a long time just as Ripley predicted to repair the barricades, but Hicks’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed those few hours with her.

They talked in between welds and he couldn’t help but notice the way her hard edge continued to ebb away; she definitely smiled more and continued to laugh at his bad jokes.

“For what it’s worth,” he banged on the barricade.

He turned to find her reading the plans beside him. He took a nervous breath and reached into his pocket. “Here, I want you to put this on,” he handed a watch-like device to her.

“What’s it for?” she took it and put it on her wrist.

“It’s a Locator. Then I can find you anywhere in the complex on this,” he showed her the reader.

The look she gave him, an incredible softening of her eyes, the gentle curve of her smile; put him on the defensive, “Just a precaution.”

“Thanks.”

He glanced at her smiling face then back to the plans, keeping his eyes low, “Doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything.”

Oh, man, what a dickhead. He could kick himself.

But Ripley laughed anyway.

Really wasn’t the best time to start flirting. “All right, what’s next?”

“This was the last one, but we could take a walk along here? Vasquez and Hudson noticed a lot of damage just along there, this side of that door there. An explosion of some sort. We should check and see if some of the larger holes need patching.”

Of course he couldn’t help himself, “So, we’re talking walks now?”

Laughing again, she gently nudged his side, “Stop it.”

Really goddamn inappropriate time to be flirting, “All right, let’s go.”


	7. Half-Truths and Impending Doom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I discovered line breaks - now if only I could figure out how to get the italics to 'apply' to the posting...
> 
> Anyway, onwards with the next chapter. Thanks to those who reviewed, liked, subscribed and sent kudos etc. 
> 
> Have to admit, this chapter had me a little stumped. Just didn't seem like much happened and some of the dialogue had my lip twitching . . .

 

Ripley kept her flamethrower slung on her shoulder, gripping the handle tightly and poised for the unknown number of terrors to jump out of her. Each step her eyes searched the darkness, the only sound paying her companion was the pounding of her heart and the muted footfalls of her shoes against the grating.

Every step she kept the incinerator trained to the darkness, moving from side to side, trying in vain to silence the gasping of her breath. Ripley was alone and walking along the perimeter in a part where the lighting had been damaged.

With a promise to check for anything they might’ve missed, Ripley left Hicks in the command centre an hour earlier to go do some digging of her own.    

Secretly of course, but not for a lack of trust in him. 

No, because Burke had been in the room. Hicks kept it to himself and not uttered a word if he knew what she was really up to.

There was no longer any doubt in her mind Hicks and the other two marines were not apart of some Company plan to capture a specimen. She was confident they were just as much a victim in all this as she was; they’d lost three quarters of their unit and the only means of escape. 

It was Burke she had an ill feeling about. Despite all his profound assurances back on Earth, Ripley knew in her gut the man was on this mission to acquire specimens for study. His actions in the APC had all but proved that, at least in Ripley’s opinion.

What would a xenomorph be worth to the Company? And who knew if Burke was acting alone? How far up did this whole thing go?

Evidence. She needed evidence. 

The lives of one hundred and fifty seven colonists and one marine unit demanded justice.

Hicks could be all soldier and talk securing their safety and escape first; that was his job and that worked for her. She could also admire his determined focus on their survival. He was obviously very comfortable commanding and had shown himself to be thorough and clever. He was the best choice to lead if they were going to survive.

But Ripley had to admit, he did come off a little naive. Perhaps it was his youth or simply the soldier in him. He didn’t see the serpents lurking the way she did.

Yet, having confidence in Hicks left Ripley unashamedly free to snoop around for answers, unhampered by the duties of leadership. 

First, she’d tried the computers. Encryption, passwords, security. She had no hope getting into the restricted files.

So she’d set about looking for physical clues. The medlab with the four facehuggers had been her next stop. The paper records hadn’t offered a great deal.

The first died on the way back from the derelict. The survivors described the spider-like creature, and the horror which followed. 

Further orders from ‘on high’ - They needed to investigate and a specimen to study. 

Four became infected, four had died; two had died in surgery.

Many followed.

Still gasping, Ripley turned around the corner into even further darkness, her incinerator poised to fire-

“You really thinking Burke’s hiding something?”

Ripley jumped out of her skin, “Vasquez?”

A light flashed on, blindingly bright to her ill-adjusted eyes, but it was Vasquez nonetheless, “You really thinking Burke’s hiding something?”

Ripley swallowed, “You scared me, I didn’t even hear you.”

“I used to be in recon,” Vasquez told her like that explained everything.

“Were you following me?”

“I heard you,” she scoffed, “thought your were up to something. Answer the question.”

“Yes, I do,” Ripley confirmed, “You heard Hicks and me talking?”

Vasquez hissed and rolled her eyes, “Recon, man. Me, Drake, Hicks and Dietrich. We could scout your bunk while you slept in it.”

Ripley stared at the woman, still unsure what that meant. “Yes,” she repeated, “I believe Burke is hiding something. Why? Are you here to tell me I’m imagining things?”

Vasquez meet her stare with a squared jaw, “No, bonita.” She stepped backwards, back into the shadow, “Come on. Have something you’ll like.”

Unsure but unwilling to show it, Ripley warily followed. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Vasquez lead her through the darkened corridors with not much more than a small light on her shoulder set to low. They made their way back into the command centre. 

Hicks was missing and the room empty. 

They continued on into operations to find Hudson at a terminal, “Yo Ripley.”

“What’s going on?”

“I got you in.”

“You got me in?”

Hudson laughed, “Can you believe her, Vas? Thinks A little Colonial encryption is bad-ass enough to stop the ultimate badass!”

Vasquez scoffed, “this is how he don’t get shot by friendly-fire.”

Ripley grinned, “because he’s good at his job.”

Hudson jumped up, “Got that right, man! Better to have me on your side.”

“We gotta check the perimeter,” Vasquez grabbed Hudson by the collar, “Move.”

“Wait,” Hudson pointed to Ripley, “Don’t you need me?”

Ripley brushed passed them, the grin still broad on her face, “No, I think I know how to use a computer.”

“You got about twenty minutes before Hicks comes back.”

“Wait. We’re keeping this from Hicks?” Ripley questioned uneasily.

Vasquez waved away her question, “Nope.”

Ripley was confused.

“He’s the one in command, responsible for gettin’ us out alive. He’s no use for guesses and maybes. Once there’s proof-.” Vasquez then stepped in closer to her, “Once there’s proof, I’ll blame Burke’s death on the aliens.”

Swallowing again, Ripley watched the two marines leave then sat down at the terminal Hudson had left her. A part of her hoped Burke was innocent because if he wasn’t, he wasn’t getting out of there alive.

The truth. She had to know.

Keying for a search, she asked the restricted Colonial Administration database for all information pertaining to the discovery of the derelict spacecraft on LV-426.

* * *

 

 

That didn’t add. The first communique requested a survey of the derelict’s grid reference she’d given them. The next communicae came a week later, ordering an investigation and specimen for study.

One week later?

Intersystem communication took weeks. How did Earth receive and respond to the colonies report before it had even arrived?

Was there a ship out there, playing relay and re-submitting on a higher powered transmitter? Or was it the ship that sent the new orders?

Ripley’s stomach dropped, or had they anticipated what would happen? Had they’d known?

At the very least, the one who sent the first communique should have warned them of the extreme potential threat. Hitting a few more keys, the screen responded with the name attached to the original order: Burke, Carter J.

She shook her head in disgust; that bastard. And there was nothing noted about the security concerns. 

He hadn’t warned them. He sent them out there, unawares and unprepared.

The name on the second communicae?

Unknown.

She slammed her fist down on the desk. Damn it!

It was evidence just not enough.

Fifteen minutes later, Ripley closed down the terminal with a sigh. There was nothing more to be learned at this end. For any more she’d have to break into the network at Earth’s end.

In the very least though, she had something to go on.

Proof? Some.

Conclusive? No.

Burke sent them to the derelict, that was irrefutable. But he was just an errand boy from what she was able to dig up on him. Low level administrators did not have the authority to send expensive inter-system communication. Or the influence to order the limited attachment of a single USCM marine unit and ship. 

What ever was behind the setup of the Haden’s Hope colony and their subsequent destruction it was clear Burke was not the mastermind.

He was the operative, the lacky.

Still, it was a start. What she needed was further proof and/or for Burke to confess.

A confession should prove easier now she was armed with a token of proof.

Retracing her steps into the command centre, Ripley almost gasped in surprise.

Hicks and Burke were also coming into the command centre from the opposite side. Newt was nestled on Hicks’ hip, one arm around the soldier’s shoulder armour and her free hand rubbing her eyes. 

Ripley was eager to share what she’d found with Hicks but Vasquez’ made her point had to ignore; Hicks had no use for half-truths. She needed to keep a lid on what she’d learnt for the moment.

Burke kept going through the room and out the door to the rec-room. There was a couch in there. Perhaps he was going for a nap. 

She watched him with hard eyes. If only she could get Burke to spill all he knew.

Hicks placed his rifle on a table, “Come on, kiddo. Sit here for a minute, I gotta check stuff.”

Newt voiced her growl of disapproval and tightened her grip on him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Newt again protested, this time with a higher pitch, now practically dangling from Hicks’ neck. “Alright,” he conceded softly, shaking his head in mock frustration, “Give a girl chocolate and suddenly you're hitched.”

Newt giggled then cupped her mouth to whisper into his ear.

Hicks continued to check the monitors without pause, “Nope, I don’t have any more.”

Ripley stifled a laugh then walked into the room.

Hicks looked over at her as if he’d known she was there when he’d walked in, “Look, there’s Ripley.”

She held out her arms to her.

Instantly Newt surrendered her vice-like grip on Hicks, allowing him to put her down. Throwing her arms around her, she buried her face into Ripley’s side.

“She’s tired,” Hicks told her quietly, eyes still fixed scanning the sensors, his face stoic.

Ripley picked her up and held her tightly but cocked her head watching Hicks. There was something bothering him. “What is it?” she asked cautiously. 

For a five count he didn’t reply.

“Ammo.”

Tucking Newt in tighter, she walked closer to him, “Ammo?”

He sighed and dropped himself down onto the edge of one of the terminal desks, “They defended themselves.”

“Yes?”

“Well, they used up everything.”

“You’ve been looking for weapons?” she asked surprised.

“Not a single round left.” He bent back, resting his boot on a chair, “a whole stocked armoury.”

Fear stabbed at her heart, “And they still failed.”

What chance did they have?

He must’ve seen her thoughts, “We’ll just be more resourceful than they were,” his features eased, his lips shifting to an easy smile. 

A smile like that could soothe a chook in a soup factory. 

“Guess so,” returning his smile, she eased Newt back to the ground and sat on the desk opposite. 

“She was wandering,” Hicks told her, “half asleep. Caught me looting the supply lockers.” He pulled out two packets and held out one to her. “Gave me grief about these.”

Ripley’s eyes lit up and took it from him, “Thanks,” digging eagerly into the packet for a cigarette.

Newt raised her tired head, “My mommy says smoking is bad for you.”

“Which is why your not getting any,” Hicks admonished then shook his head, “If it's not the bugs cutting off my supply, its nagging from the pint-sized survivors.” 

“It smells,” Newt coughed for affect.

Hicks rolled his eyes.

“Does too!”

“Okay, okay,” Ripley showed Newt her replacing the cigarette into its pack.

“Goddamn impossible to maintain an addiction in this place,” Hicks shoved his own back into his pocket.

“I never used to be,” she admitted, “Addicted, I mean.”

“Oh?” he raised a brow. “What changed?”

She could’ve told him that it was the events on the Nostromo but instead she told him another half truth, “After eighty-eight years,” she shrugged, “I thought what the hell?”

His expression didn’t changed and she knew he didn’t believe her. But he didn’t press her.

“I,” she started, deciding to tell him anyway, “well, after waking up, I guess it became habit.” She gestured to him, “You?”

“Boredom.”

“Boredom?”

He sniggered, “No dull moments for civie lieutenants?”

“What does ‘civie lieutenant’ mean?” Newt’s voice was getting sleepier.

“Means you get paid more for doing less,” Hicks scoffed but then quickly added at Ripley’s glare, “so I’ve heard.”

“Uh huh.” She groused, “well, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t got paid yet.” She breathed in and tried to delve a little, “If you get so bored, why do you still do this?”

Hicks sat back again; he’d done this a few times now when she’d asked him questions. Either he was surprised because ‘no-one asked marines questions’ or because she was getting too personal with him. 

Abruptly he smirked, “You ask a lot of questions of a simple soldier.”

“And you prevaricate well for a simple soldier.”

He laughed, his intense green eyes shining brilliantly, “Well, it’s not always boring.”

“I suppose next you’ll tell me you enjoy the travel?” she suggested, remembering the USCM commercial.

“Meet interesting new people?” he offered, reciting the next line of the commercial.

“Further colonial interests?” Ripley laughed, finishing the last line.

He gleamed, “Don’t forget playing with explosives.”

Ripley shook her head, “and nukes?”

“Fuckin’ oath.”

“Don’t swear, Hicks!” the indignant scold coming from down beside her.

Hicks blinked down to her hip, then back to her with mock seriousness, “I’ve been told.”

“It’s not nice.”

Ripley cuddled Newt in closer, “And you’re tired.”

“Am not,” she rubbed her eyes again, “He swore. Swearing is not nice.”

“You’re right, honey, it’s not.” Hicks cocked his head to the left, “There’s a bed or two in medical still in one piece.”

Agreeing with his suggestion, Ripley pulled Newt into her arms, “Food first.”

“She’s eaten,” Hicks said absentmindedly, his hand going up to ear, “Copy. I’ll continue to monitor from ops. Get some chow, Hudson. Relieve me in four hours.”

When he tapped his ear again, she pressed, “She’s eaten?”

“Snap ‘n serve ratons,” he said, pulling himself off the table and dropping down into the chair, his fingers quickly zooming over the keypad.

Satisfied, she headed for the door with Newt, “I’ll check on Bishop.” Ripley had an intimate relationship with ‘snap ‘n serve’ rations whilst living on her pittance of a wage back on Earth - not very tasty but they filled your belly and were packed full of all essential nutrients. Hicks obviously hadn’t forgotten how to care for kids.

His scoff followed her, “check on Bishop?” 

“For his analysis,” she retorted tartly over her shoulder and heard him snigger in reply. 

Hicks thought her mistrust of synthetics was strange, told her as much earlier during their hours of welding. To him, the idea of an android being anything but trustworthy was ridiculous. It was a synthetic’s job to maintain the unit and provide technical expertise where required. He'd told her; they were a mix of executive officer and nurse-maid. 

And Bishop? He’d been with Hicks’ company for ten years.

It wasn’t all Hicks’ fault he couldn’t see things from her standpoint - he’d never had one try to kill him with a magazine. 

She hadn’t told him about that yet.

If they survived maybe she would.

Over a beer sometime? 

Ripley was walking through door into the corridor when it occurred to her; Hicks yet again successfully avoided answering her questions. 

With a private chuckle, she took Newt in the direction of medical. 

* * *

 

 

After she’d put Newt down for a nap, Ripley went to find Vasquez. On her way, she’d spotted Gorman in medical and her stomach soured.

Though she trusted Hicks, Vasquez and Hudson, Gorman could wake up anytime. 

And Hicks already told her; this was still Gorman’s command. Could Ripley stand idle when that happened and watch Gorman take over again? Could Gorman be apart of the Company’s plot? 

“What I can’t understand,” she stressed to Vasquez, “is why they sent us out here with a green lieutenant?”

Vasquez sniggered, “’cause you’re with us. You and Burke. Company people get VIP treatment.”

Ripley frowned, “I don’t understand.”

“Lieutenants’ are not needed on our usual missions. Most missions are not important enough and command falls to the higher ranking NCO’s; you know, company sergeants.”

Ripley blinked, “Having Gorman lead the mission was meant to ensure success?”

Vasquez waved her hands up and down, “Sort of. More ‘bout ensuring the Company reps get out alive.”

“Under normal circumstances, Apone would’ve led the mission?”

She nodded, “Yeah, him or Hicks, or some others from the other units. Bueno, last couple months Apone’s been mostly running things since Hicks was busted.”

“Hicks was busted?” Ripley demanded hotly. Seemed wrong from what she’d seen of the guy, but admittedly and despite speaking to him a number of times now, Ripley really didn’t know him at all.

Vasquez stood back with narrowed eyes, “Don’t do that. Hicks is a good man, a good marine.”

She quickly held up her hand to ward off Vasquez’ warning, “No, I-I’m just surprised.”

Vasquez continued but her eyes remained slanted, “He was our company’s first Sergeant. Rumour was he was weeks from being sent away to officer trainin’ when he was hauled in front of a court martial.”

Officer training? “What was he busted for?” she asked again, starting to feel very, very small. And a little sick.

“Defyin’ orders was what we heard. During a mission with another unit.”

Ripley pressed her, “And? What happened?”

“Hicks won’t say. No-one who knows will say. Scuttlebud is he refused to leave marines behind but that’s just rumour. They say if weren’t for Apone, testifying and backing up Hicks’, they’d thrown him in the fuckin’ stockade then dishonourable discharge. Fuckin’ brass. We were lucky to have Apone to step up into Hicks’ place.” 

“He was working towards becoming a lieutenant,” she quietly muttered to herself, understanding knocking her in the stomach again. All this time she’d been questioning and never once stopped to consider there was a reason.

A possible painful reason.

“Yeh,” Vasquez growled, “Only for like thirteen years. Then bam! Back to corporal.”

“He was lucky to still have that. Should’ve kept his mouth shut and done what he was told,” Hudson piped up from the corner.

“What would ya know, idiot? You weren’t even in our company then,” Vasquez growled, flicking the private in the face and walking over to the coffee dispenser.

“I heard about it,” Hudson shook his head, “marines don’t ask questions.”

Vasquez rolled her eyes muttering something incomprehensible before coming back over with two mugs and handing Ripley one, “Three things keep marines on their feet: Ammo, powerbars, and caffeine.”

Ripley took the cup from her and had a sip. Instantly she squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to swallow.

“If it don’t kick ya in the teeth goin’ down, it ain’t marine coffee.”

“Better hope it doesn’t run out then,” she commented, taking another, longer sip. She would need all the edge coffee could give her.

“Lucky bugs don’t drink it,” Vasquez held out a bar with a dark green wrapper. 

“I’m not hungry.”

Vasquez didn’t lower her hand, “Eat it anyway. I don’t wanna be haulin’ your ass outta here on me shoulders ‘cause ya didn’t eat.”

Even though Vasquez’s words sounded harsh, her face was almost pleasant, quite the change from when they first met.  Ripley took the bar from her with a genuine smile, “Thanks.”

Vasquez nodded and moved to sit down, “De nada, man.” She drank down a long swell of coffee then rubbing her face tiredly, she continued, “Not all officers are like Gorman, Ripley. Some are good. But then ya get some just out for glory at any price. No matter who they get killed.”

Ripley watched her and for the first time since the processing plant, she remembered. Hesitantly, she spoke, “I’m so sorry, Vasquez.”

Vasquez shot her head back up to her and for a heartbeat Ripley feared she’d made a mistake.

But Vasquez didn’t bit her head off, instead she seemed almost thankful. “Marines aren’t just robots or fodder. We’re people too. Even if we don’t have the chance to mourn our dead, we still feel it.”

“I’m sorry.”

The marine shook her head gently, “You don’t have to be. ‘Cause of you, there’s still three of us left.” Suddenly she smiled, “you’ve got some balls. Make a good marine.”

Ripley smiled, guessing that was about as good a compliment as she’d ever get from Vasquez. “Thanks.”

Vasquez shrugged her thanks away.

“What,” she asked, carefully, “do you know of Gorman? I mean, apart from this mission.”

Vasquez frowned, “nada.”

“Nothing?”

“We met him five minutes before you.”

She waved at her in desperation, “What about the-the scuttlebud?”

“Fresh from the academy. Couple missions only,” she shrugged, “Did some university before Colonial Marines, no idea what and I don’t care.”

“Do you think he’s-”

“I don’t know,” Vasquez put her hands on her hips, “if he’s unknown to much scuttlebud-.”

“Then he may be assigned to this mission because they thought him easily manipulated?”

“Who’s they?” Hudson came in closer, munching on another powerbar. “Who’s easily manipulated?”

“Shut up, Hudson,” Vasquez snapped at him then eyed her, “So, what did you find? Or don’t I get to know?”

Ripley took a calming breath, she needed to be careful, “Burke ordered the colonists out there. He gave them the coordinates I supplied and sent them to investigate,” she continued quickly seeing the murderous intent in Vasquez’ eyes, “but he’s too lower level to be the mastermind. He’s probably just a pawn.”

“A guilty pawn.”

“Yes, but if we’re to discover more, we’re going to need him alive.”

Vasquez rolled her eyes, but didn’t take up her rifle and immediately run off to seek her vengeance.

“Ripley?” Bishop’s voice called across the room, “Corporal? Private? I have finished my analysis.”

Ripley took another hard gulp of Vasquez’s rocket-brew. Something told her she’d need it. “All right, Bishop, let’s hear it.” The three of them followed Bishop into the room. “How’s Gorman?”

Gorman was still lying unconscious as she’d seen him before, unmoving and bloody bandage around his head.

“He’s going to be fine. He'll wait up soon enough then wish he hadn't.”

Ripley looked at him questioningly.

“His head will hurt,” Bishop supplied. “A lot.”

“Expert on pain, are you?”

Bishop opened his mouth then closed it, his face the same as it had been back on Sulaco during that first meal. For a brief moment Ripley felt ashamed at her words.

But only for a moment. He was only an android after all and what happened to her on the Nostromo might seem so long ago to these people, but was still very fresh in her mind.

* * *

 

 

Ripley listened but he seemed to be missing the point, and it was actually Hudson who surprisingly came up with the likely suggestion.

A queen.

“There’s one thing worth considering though.”

Ripley sighed, “And what is that?”

“It may have been nothing more than blind instinct, attraction to the heat or whatever, but the queen did choose, assuming she does exist, to incubate her eggs in the one spot in the colony where we couldn’t destroy her without destroying ourselves. If she chose from instinct, it means they’re no brighter than termites. If it was selected on the basis of intelligence, well,” Bishop paused, “well, then we’re in very deep trouble.”

A cold shiver ran up and down her spine. Taking a calming breath, she butted her smoke, “Bishop, I want these specimens destroyed as soon as you’re finished with them. Is that clear?”

“Mr. Burke gave instructions that they were to be kept alive in stasis for return to the Company labs.” He again paused, “He was very specific about it.”

“Dumb ass idea, that is,” Hudson muttered.

“Destroyed, Bishop.”

Bishop nodded, “Of course. Another hour or two and I'll have finished.”

“How will you destroy them?” Vasquez asked. “Safely?”

Bishop smiled, “I'll have that figured out in an hour or two.”

With that Ripley threw the rest of the coffee down her throat, “Where’s Burke now?”

Vasquez shrugged but pulled out her pistol and held it out, “Wanna do it, or shall I?”

Ripley shook her head, “No, no he’s not getting off that easy. And remember, we still need him to finger his bosses.”

“Wanna take it anyway?” Vasquez still held out her pistol.

“No,” Ripley shook her head against the urge to accept, “we need him to talk.”

* * *

 

“Look. Those two specimens are worth millions to the bio-weapons division. Now if you’re smart, we can both come out of this heroes, and we will be set up for life.”

“You’re crazy, Burke. Do you know that? Do you really think you can get a dangerous organism like that past I.C.C. quarantine?”

“How can they impound it if they don’t know about it?”

“But they will know about it, Burke, from me. Just like they’ll know that your were responsible for the deaths of one hundred and fifty seven colonists.”

“Wait a second!”

“You sent them to that ship.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I just checked the colony log. Directive dated six, twelve, seventy nine, signed Burke, Carter J. You sent them out there, and you didn’t even warn them. Why didn’t you warn them, Burke?”

“Okay, look. What if that ship didn’t even exist? Did you ever think about that? I didn’t know. So now if I went and made a major security situation out of it, everybody steps in, Administration steps in, and no exclusive rights for anybody. Nobody wins. So I made a decision and it was wrong. It was a bad call, Ripley. It was a bad call.”

“Bad call? These people are dead, Burke! Do you have any idea what you’ve done here? I’m gonna make sure that they nail you right to the wall for this! You’re not gonna sleaze your way out of this one. Right to the wall.”

“Ripley. I- you know I expected more from you. I thought you’d be smarter than this.”

“Well, I’m happy to disappoint you. You know, it’s always the men in suits, the men like you, feeling less like real men and overcompensate at the expense of lives.”

“Real men like Hicks you mean?” he sneered, “I wouldn’t bother getting all misty-eyed, Ripley. He’s about to run out of usefulness. Real men have their uses but all end up the same way: dead.”

The impact of his threat was acutely felt, but still vague. He had some plan, something she hadn’t thought of. So far she’d guessed right; he’d already figured a way to get the creatures past quarantine. But how did he plan to get rid of the others?

 She stepped closer to him, hoping her height would help to intimidate him, “Whatever you’re thinking of trying, Burke, I will figure it out. Then we’ll see just who ends up dead. You think these marines will protect you once they learn what you've done?” She turned and left down the corridor towards the command centre. Her threat was a bluff though; she needed him alive. 

Somehow, she had to keep him alive.

Storming through the corridors, Ripley was headed in the direction of her nose when an ear-piercing alarm shook through her. For a moment she looked around her, then understanding she slapped the release on the next door, taking off at a run for the operations centre.

The aliens had come.

Making it to operations, Hudson and Vasquez swerved around her and they all packed in behind Hicks.

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“They’re coming,” Hicks told them calmly.

“Where?”

“In the tunnel,” Hicks told Hudson. “Just as we predicted.”

Then without warning the thunder of the sentries joined the already deafening sound of the alarm. Hicks cut the alarm, leaving only the noise of the guns, “Here we go.” He checked the readouts, “‘A’ and ‘B’ guns tracking n’ firing. Multiple targets.”

Something was wrong. Ripley watched with dread, the readouts were counting down too fast. The guns were going to be spent in a few seconds. 

“Look at those ammo counters go,” Hudson muttered quietly.

Ripley looked at him, then back to the screen. Through the video display, she saw them. They filled the tunnel.

Her dread increased. The guns weren’t spending their ammo via unnecessary rate of fire, but from the number of targets. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she begged the guns to push them back.

“‘B’ gun’s down fifty percent,” Hicks reported, still eerily calm.

“Man,” Hudson awed, “It’s a shooting gallery down there.”

“Sixty rounds left of ‘B’. Forty.” An alarm sounded, “Twenty. Ten. ‘B’ guns dry.”

Ripley forced herself to breathe.

“Twenty on ‘A’. Ten. Five.”

The alarm went silent.

Hicks sat back in his chair and looked at them, his face again stoic. “That’s it. They’ve won the tunnel.”

“Jesus, they were wall-to-wall in there,” Hudson scoffed, “They won the tunnel, but at what cost?”

Hicks looked at her, “One hundred and fifty-seven colonists but we know not all bore a bug. Their numbers will have thinned.”

“But man,” Vasquez pipped up, “is it enough?”

Hicks twitched a smile at Vasquez, “Guess we’ll know soon enough.”

Ripley looked at the three of them, flicking to the darkened video of the tunnel. Even if the guns had killed fifty, and the other two guns took out another fifty . . .

She closed her eyes, trying not to see Cain lying on the table, his chest exploding.

A knocking noise pulled her out from her waking nightmare, “They’re at the pressure door.”

Hudson hissed, “Man, listen to that. Think they’re pissed?”

All three of them stopped dead.

Ripley frowned, “What-?”

“That’s a switch.”

“What?”

Hicks stood up, causing Ripley to feel like she needed to back up from being too close. But Hicks didn’t seem to notice. “It’s Bishop,” he told her, “says he’s got some bad news.” He touched his earpiece, “Copy. We’re on our way-” Hicks stopped then resumed, “then get up here.” Looking back at her, he shrugged, “He’s coming to us.”

Ripley hesitated. Again she wanted him to understand she would not be taken, that he had to ensure she wouldn’t. But, seeing the other two still standing by, she couldn’t. 

Hicks frowned, having picked up on her hesitation. Before he could ask, the door opened and a hurrying Bishop came running in. “Over here, Corporal,” he pointed out the towards the eastern windows.

Hicks brushed passed her, then with a hand on the small on her back coaxed her forward, “Come on.”

Together they followed Bishop.

“There,” he pointed towards the processing station.

“What, Bishop?” Hicks asked.

Ripley shook her head, “It’s very pretty, Bishop, but what are we looking for?”

“Wait,” Bishop soothed, then pointed a the bright blue flashes of light filling the dark sky, “there. That’s it.”

A long hissed came from Hicks beside her.

“Emergency venting,” Bishop told her.

“Oh, that’s beautiful, man,” Hudson started rambling, “oh, man, that-that just beats it all.”

“How long ‘till it blows?” Hicks asked.

“Four hours-”

Hicks scoffed loudly.

“-with a blast radius of thirty kilometers, equal to about forty megatons.”

Hicks continued to laugh then with a shake of his head, he turned away from the window, “We got problems.”

“I don’t believe this!” Hudson shouted. “I don’t fucking believe this!”

Ripley followed Hicks back away from the windows.

“Vasquez,” Hicks ordered, “Close the shutters.”

Looking back at Bishop, Ripley tried to think, “Bishop, why can’t we shut it down from here?”

Bishop was shaking his head before she’d even finished, “I’m sorry. The dropship crash caused too much damage and an overload in inevitable at this point.”

“Oh, man, and I was getting short. Four more weeks and out. Now I’m gonna buy it on this rock,” Hudson continued to whimper. “It ain’t half fair, man.”

“Hudson,” Vasquez snapped, “give us a break!”

“Four more weeks. Oh, man.”

She did her best to ignore Hudson, “We’ve got to get the other dropship from the Sulaco. I mean, these must be some way of bringing it down on remote.”

Hudson jumped in front of her, “How? The transmitter was on the APC. It’s wasted.”

“Well, I don’t care how, Hudson!” She stopped herself and looked at Hicks and Bishop, both of whom were silent, “but we better think of a way.”

“Think of what?! Hudson yelled, “We’re fucked! We’re doomed!”

“Shut up!”

Ripley blinked in surprise, so did Hudson, and turned back to Hicks.

Hicks’ face was serious but there was an idea behind his eyes, “What about the colony transmitters? The uplink tower down at the other end. Why can’t we use that?”

Ripley started nodding-

But Bishop was shaking a negative, “No, I checked. The hardware between here and there was damaged.” Bishop looked at them both, “We can’t align the dish.”

No, this was their best chance. “Well, somebody’s gonna have to go out there. Take a portable terminal, go out there and patch in manually.”

“Oh, yeah, sure! You volunteering? With those things running around?! Good luck!”

“Hudson!” 

This time though, Hudson didn’t even flinch at Hicks yell, “you can count me out!”

Hicks patience had worn very thin, “Guess we can count you out of everything?”

“That’s right! Send Ripley, she’s a pilot!”

The blood drained from her face, but she stepped forward, “I’ll go.”

Hicks shook his head, “No way-”

“She can’t,” Bishop cut in, “she’s not qualified to remote-pilot the ship-”

“It doesn’t need to be perfect,” she argued.

“I’ll go.”

Ripley frowned, “What?”

Bishop repeated, “I’ll go. I am qualified to remote-pilot the ship and begging your pardon, Ripley, it does need to be perfect. With those storms out there, any slight mishap and the ship will join the other, in pieces. I’ll have to do it very carefully and slow. Given just how slow, I must leave now.”

“Yeah,” Hudson nodded, “Yeah, Bishop should go.”

No one was paying attention to him though.

“Bishop-” Hicks began.

“Corporal, this is the best option,” Bishop nodded, “I am right for this job.”

“Let him go. Yeah. Good idea.”

Bishop looked at Hudson then back to Hicks and Ripley, “Believe me, I’d prefer not to. I may be synthetic, but I’m not stupid.”

Hicks nodded reluctantly, “Alright. Tell me what you need.”


	8. Strip-Down (Pull apart, repair and reassemble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess the first thing I need to say is a big sorry to the readers who have been so very patient. I AM SORRY.  
> I have had the worst case of writer's block in years these passed few months, added with family and work commitments, I have been very remiss with updates.
> 
> Anyway, enough of the sobs, here's the next chapter. The length is short, yes, but it had to be this way to allow for the spine-tingling end chapter (yep, that's right! The end is nigh!) and the last chapter was ever only going to be in Ripley's POV.  
> However, there will be an epilogue (of sorts) which is follow in Hicks' POV. **NOTE: the epilogue goes off canon. Some may not like this, so be warned.
> 
> Now, about this chapter? I tried to keep things 'decent' and in character, whilst trying to smoke things up a bit. I'd like to know your thoughts.
> 
> **** Strong Coarse Language Warning. You've been warned ****
> 
> Okay, enough from me. On with the chapter!

 

* * *

 

 

Hudson sat away from him, the back of his amour facing Hicks in silent rebuke. A small part of Hicks didn’t blame him; it was a pretty fucked up situation.

But losing their heads ensured one thing: their deaths.

And Hicks was sure as hell wasn’t gonna go down without a fight.

“Get over here, Hudson. Surveillance network’s screwed.”

Private Hudson did not move.

“Did you hear me, private?”

Again no response.

“Hudson!” he barked, “Get your ass over here!”

“Why?”

Instantly to his feet Hicks tore over to him and wrenched him up by his collar, “‘cause I’ll shoot you if you don’t!”

Hudson didn’t even look at him.

He’d given up.

“Save me from the bugs, wouldn’t it? Or the blast.”

Hicks clenched his fists against the despair in Hudson’s voice, then executed a perfect snarl and threw him in the direction of surveillance monitors, “pull your head out of your ass, Marine!”

Hudson collected his feet after a brief stumble, “What’s the point? We’re gonna die. We’re fucked!”

At least the tone of despair had gone. Hicks advanced on him, “You forgettin’ what they did? You  gonna let that fly? Drake melting in acid? Frost burned alive? Apone and Dietrich? Fuckin’ cunts ripping out their chests?”

Hudson went deathly pale, his eyes widening in horror.

“What ya wanna do? Give up? Some _Ultimate Badass_!” he threw at him. “You’re nothin’ but a goddamned pussy.”

Hudson shook his head, “but-?”

“You know what? Fuck off!” he pointed to the door, “I don’ need ya! I’ll do it myself.”

“Do what?”

Hicks got back into Hudson’s face, “Tear every one of their fuckin’ heads off for what they did.”

Hudson’s chin rose, “yeah?”

“We get outta here? I’ll find and fry every last motherfuckin’ bastard for what they did to our friends.”

The corner of Hudson’s mouth turned upwards, “yeah.”

Hicks bared his teeth, “Every-last-cocksuckin’-fucker! I’m gonna make ‘em extinct.”

An animalistic glee filled Hudson’s face, “yeah! Shove fuckin’ nukes right down their fuckin’ throats!”

“I gonna fuck the lot of ‘em.”

“Fuckin’ A! We’ll ass-fuck them all!”

“That’s right. None walks away. No matter where they are, I’m gonna decorate Sulaco’s hull with the cunts.”

“Yeah!” Hudson slapped him hard into the shoulder, “You and me! We’ll string ‘em up!”

“But first,” Hicks pointed in the general direction of the monitors, “Fix my goddamn surveillance network!”

“Right on, man,” Hudson nodded enthusiastically, eagerly jumping away to comply with his order.

Hicks watched Hudson bounce over and drop into the seat, his fingers already flying over the keyboard, chuckling to himself, “Fuckin’ badass, Hicks. Bad-ass! Fuckin’ A!”

Quietly, and privately, Hicks took a very long breath.

It’d worked this time. But if anything else went wrong it’d take a lot more than a little pep-talk to keep Hudson together.

Hell, maybe it'd be Hicks needing the pep-talk.

“Is everything alright? I heard yelling.”

Hicks saw Burke coming into the room over his shoulder but returned to his monitors, “Another glorious day in the corps.” Then something struck him, “Better stick close Burke. We got some issues with the network. Some blind spots-”

“Not anymore,” Hudson called proudly, “just a glitch, nothing this badass can’t handle.”

“What was the problem?” Burke asked.

“Some cameras switched off. The systems old, muddlin’ up the codes. No problem.”

Hicks frowned, “Which cameras?”

“General area ‘round medical, computer core, few corridors.” Hudson waved up at the view screens, “look, nothing there,” he pointed to one in particular, “‘cept for the kid. All fucken’ cute an’ sleeping.”

“Old systems,” Burke scoffed, “once a colonies set up, they don’t like us Company guys coming in with any new tech.”

Hicks’ brow deepened even more and glancing back at Burke again he found the other man smiling. Shit, the colony Hicks’d grown up on would’ve sold their mothers for new tech from the company. He’d been right all along; Burke really was a dick. “You sure ‘bout that? Seems these folks could’ve used a little extra tech.”

Burke ran his fingers down his chin and continued grinning, “You’re not from a colony, are you Corporal?”

Hicks’ jaw shut hard but there was only one response; the only response drilled into him since he was fifteen, “No, sir. I’m terrain.”

Burke’s smug face was begging for a fist but he wasn’t finished, “Sure? I could’ve sworn I heard a bit of an accent there.” He held out a hand to wave in his direction, “I must be mistaken, right? Marine Corps has no colonists. Yeh, you must get that a lot. Must be frustrating, having to parry off accusations like that all the time, especially with the Company’s policy on colonists serving in the military.”

Hicks’ years of hard training and discipline were the only thing keeping him from plummeting his fist deep into Burke’s gut, and another into that smug pretty face. He didn’t know why Burke’d come after him with this, now of all times. Delayed retaliation from the incident in the APC?

It didn’t matter though because threats aside, they’d either die there or they’d survive. That was the crux and Hicks’ had other things to worry about than his career. He took a step towards Burke, “You got something on your mind? Why don’t you come out with it? I’ve got work to do. _People_ to save.”

This time Burke didn’t recoil from Hicks’ advance, instead he stood self-assured and maintained his cool air, “You’d better save us, Corporal, or you’ll be doing worse then dock-works like Ripley. I’ll see you sent back to that dark damp rock you crawled out of-”

“If I don’t save us,” he cut in with a smooth tone and slowly smiled, “We’ll be dead and I won’t give a fuck anymore.”

His threat failing flat Burke’s face fell. He stepped away but only to then whirl back on Hicks and shoving a finger in his face, “I am warning you. You have no idea who you’re fucking with. If I don’t survive, but you do,” he shook his head, “life’s gonna get _real_ bad for you. The Company will see to that.”

Hicks watched the little man swagger away and out the door to the corridors beyond.

“Couldn’t ya have just shot the wanker?”

“No, we may need him to hold a weapon.” _If there were actually any spares for him to hold._

“Should’ve done him back in the APC. Admit it, you wanted too.”

Hicks snorted and turned back at Hudson, “the man’s scared. Scared people do and say dumb-shit. We get that dropship down here and he’ll come ‘round. Probably grab my ass.”

Hudson cackled, “then would you shoot him?”

“Definitely,” when Hudson laughed even louder, he smiled but pointed to the monitors. “Keep your eyes open. I hate surprises.”

“Yeh, yeh.” Hudson kicked back and threw his boots up noisily onto the table, “Just promise I’m there when ya grease him. Fuckin’ Company wanker.”

“Forget Burke. We got the alien-bastards to waste first, right?”

“No problem, man. We’re gonna fuck ‘em, nuke the lot of ‘em. Ultimate Badass’ gonna ride a nuke right up their asses.”

Hicks for once was glad for Hudson’s bullshit. Meant his mind was right where it should be. “Keep your eyes open, I’m checking the perimeter.”

“Hey Hicks?”

Hicks stopped just before the door.

“Speaking of ass. You got dibs on Ripley right?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously at Hudson, “Watch the fuckin’ monitors, private.”

As he walked out the room he could still hear Hudson laughing, “Yeah, Hicks, man. He gonna do her good. Fuckin’ walking sex organ.”

Hicks could’ve gone back, tore Hudson’s tongue out with his boot heel. But he didn’t.

Taking in a long deep breath again, Hicks held his rifle at the ready and went to check the perimeter.

Dibs on Ripley? He snorted to himself. He doubted anyone ever had the balls to attempt to _claim_ her. Surely she was the one to call dibs.

And a lucky man he’d be.

Slapping the door release down the next corridor, Hicks held his rifle with the familiarity of an extra limb and silently made his way through the darkness-

A deafening alarm tore through the darkness. The AMB sentry tracking warning.

“Son of a bitch!” Hicks took off back towards the light.

Ten seconds and he ripped through the door, “Hudson!”

“Tracking man!”

Hicks shoved Hudson to the side to watch the readout. “How many?”

“Can’t tell,” Hudson said quietly. “Guess they heard what you said ‘bout them?”

Glancing back, Hudson shrugged. His eyes were clear and he stroked his rifle.

Satisfied Hudson wasn’t falling into another pit of despair, Hicks returned his full attention to the displays. “Both guns are hot. Firing.”

“Geez, look at them! How many more can there be?”

Ripley and Vasquez came running to the room.

“This is unbelievable,” Hudson awed, “Fuckin’ boxing day at Walmart.”

Hicks glanced at Ripley, “Twenty metres and closing. Fifteen.”

Ripley came to a stop beside him, “How many?”

“Can’t tell,” he repeated Hudson’s words, looking up at the video displays of the wall to wall xenomorph, “lots.”

“At max there can only be one hundred and fifty-”

“Yeah, but we don’t know how many were cut down in the first wave. ‘B’ guns down fifty percent and ‘C’ guns right behind it.”

“Already?” she gasped.

“They’re trying to overwhelm the guns,” he told her, trying to squelch the sinking feeling in his gut. “Quicker, more concentrated attack.”

“They’re using tactics?” Hudson muttered from behind Hicks. “So much for animals. Jesus. This shit ain’t stopping them.”

“Hundred an fifty rounds on ‘D’.” Hicks’ sinking feeling reached his toes and he clenched the edge of the desk hard.

“Come on.” Hudson moaned, “Come on, baby.”

He bared his teeth, “one hundred rounds.”

“Come on! Come on! Come on!”

Forcing himself to breath, Hicks focused on settling his heart. The way this was going he was going to have his fight far sooner than he’d anticipated. “‘D’ guns down to twenty.”

Vasquez slapped her mag hard into her rifle.

“Ten.”

“Come on!” Hudson shouted.

The counter read ZERO ZERO ZERO.

“Damn it!” he growled in finality and grabbed for his rifle.

“Wait!” Ripley cried and lunged after him, her small hands grasping a tight hold of his arm.

Hicks stopped but the adrenaline still pumped hard in his veins, poised to go meet his end with as many of the bastards going down with him. “What?!” he demanded. If this was it, he was sure as hell going before her and the kid.

“They’re retreating,” Ripley told him desperately, pointing to the monitors, “Look! The guns stopped them.”

Quickly his eyes scanned the readouts and found she was correct. “You’re right,” taking a breath to calm the call to battle beating in his chest; ‘D’ gun still had ten rounds left.

A silent moment passed. No one daring to move. All of them standing tense, ready to break off at the moment the last round spat out ‘D’ gun’s barrel.

The moment clicked over into about thirty.

Hicks sighed, the first to come out of their collective stupor, “Next time they’ll walk right up and knock.”

Ripley shook herself a little then lugged her flamethrower onto the desk, “Yeah, but they don’t know that.”

Nodding in agreement, Hicks checked the other two. Both Hudson and Vasquez stood silent but firm. “Guess even they have limits.”

Ripley rubbed her face, “They’re probably looking for other ways to get in. That’ll take them awhile.”

“Maybe we got them demoralised,” Hudson quipped suddenly but also forced. He was not as frosty as he was trying to make out.

Vazquez though didn’t see that. “Shut up!” she snapped at him.

Ten rounds. They were alive by the grace of ten rounds. Ten rounds and they’d have their welcome mat to them.

And Ripley was right. So was Hudson. The aliens had at least some semblance of intelligence and mostly likely already trying to find another way in. “I want you two walking perimeter.”

Neither of them moved.

Standing up to his full height, Hicks pointed towards the door, “Move!”

They both jumped. Having quickly grabbed their gear from the table, Vasquez lead Hudson away, their faces drawn and pale.

Hicks breathed in deeply then raised his eyes from the floor. He wasn’t sending them to their death. They had to realise that.

He got the others attention, “Hey, listen. We’re all in strung-out shape, but stay frosty. And alert. All right?” He paused and stressed his words, “We can’t afford to let _one_ of those bastards in here.”

Vasquez was the first to agree, “All right, man. You got it.” She punched Hudson in the chest, “Vámanos!”

Hudson still eyed him but the betrayal in them was gone.

“Go on,” he told Hudson quietly. “Eyes open, private.”

The younger man took a long inhale then nodded, “Fuck the bastards, right Hicks?”

Hicks ghosted a smile, “Right.”

“Hey, estúpido! Venga!” Vasquez ordered Hudson from the corridor.

When they’d both gone, Hicks turned to find Ripley sitting down watching him. She looked away and took a couple gulps of marine-strength coffee with a grimace.

She was exhausted and she was scared. That much was clear. Shit, they all were.

But unlike the others this was different. At least it was for Hicks.

Her exhaustion was an easy fix if she allowed herself to relax, even just for ten minutes. Lack of sleep did things to your mind. Wore you down. Made you sloppy. Took away your fight.

He stepped in closer to her, “How long has it been since you got any sleep? Twenty-four hours?”

Ripley didn’t look at him. She took another couple gulps and shifted on her seat before whispering, “They’ll get us.”

Something in his chest burned. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Hicks,” the way she said his name put him further on edge, “I-I _won’t_ end up like the others.” Finally she looked up at him, her eyes lifeless and voice trembling, “it can't happen like that. You’ll take care of it, won’t you?”

The burning in his chest spread to his belly and he felt sick.

He should’ve expected this.

“Please?”

But he hadn’t. “If it comes to that,” he said slowly but then nodded and did not lie, “I’ll do us both.”

She looked down and he couldn’t tell if she was grateful or resentful for his promise.

“Listen,” he implored, moving in a little closer, “let’s just make sure it doesn’t come to that.” He pressed, “All right?”

Ripley forced a smile but some life did return to her eyes, “All right.”

The suddenness of her laugh breaking through the silence that followed caught him off guard, “You know I can’t figure you out, Hicks. Soldiers aren’t supposed to be optimists.”

“Yeah, I know,” he growled, not truly feeling overly optimistic. Shit, it was his job to keep them together. Until the goddamn bitter end. But he shook his head with a self-mocking laugh, “I’m a freakin’ anomaly.”

Her smile grew and once more he stood drowning in the warmth of her soft brown eyes.

It didn’t last. With a trembling breath, she looked for more coffee, “How long do you think until they find their way in here?”

He sighed. Like Hudson, her fear was eating away at her. If she were a soldier, he’d tell her to buck up, hang tough. He could order her to focus. He certainly couldn’t haul her up by her collar and call her a pussy.

Assurance was what she needed. Belief.  But what possible belief could he _possibly_ give _her_? He was just a lowly grunt after all-

“Here,” he stepped forward, “I want to introduce you to a close, personal friend of mine.” He pulled up his rifle. “This is an M-41A pulse rifle, 10-millimetre,” he pointed to the spots on the barrel, “with an over-and-under, 30-millimetre, pump-action grenade launcher.”   

He gave it a hard pump then flipped it over and held it to her, “Here, take it. Feel the weight.”

Hesitantly, she took it, her hands still trembling. She stared at it as if it was a wild animal, ready to turn and strike her.

For a second he wondered if he should retract his offer and leave her be. She wasn’t a soldier. He was to protect her, not the other way round.

Yet, he waited, resolute.

Because if this was to be his only chance to give her anything, he’d choose this; he’d choose to give back her confidence.

So he stood his ground and waited. There was nothing else he could give her.

He glanced at her lips then fixed  his eyes on hers. This was the only _acceptable_ and _decent_ thing he could give her.

Ripley shook her head but then abruptly smiled up at him once more with those incredibly soft eyes, “Okay, what do I do?”

Hicks smiled back. Privately, underneath all that armour, he was thrilled.

 

* * *

 

 

At some point during his weapons brief any need for personal space dissipated. Hicks was comfortable with that.

What was surprised him though was how comfortable Ripley was too.

And he did try to keep his hands off. Honestly he did. And honestly he failed.

He wasn’t a goddamn saint.

He’d touched her to correct her hand placement, sliding her hands and fingers under his to the correct position.

He’d touched her to correct her posture, kicking a boot between hers to widen her stance, holding the crook of her elbows out away from her body, squaring her shoulders.  

He touched her, wrapping his arm around her to press the rifle back into her shoulder, “Remember, tuck into your shoulder.” Still too low. Grabbing the butt from under her arm, he pressed it higher into her shoulder, biting down the realisation he’d brushed the edge of her breast. “Okay, feel that? That’s the sweet spot. Keep it pulled in tight there. If you don’t, you don’t have control of the weapon. You fire like that and you’ll splay shots through things you don’t want dead.”

Ripley set herself more solidly into position, her hair brushing against his cheek, “Right.”

Keeping a firm hold he pressed into her to coax her forward a little, “Lean into it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Remember it will kick some, so be prepared,” she was holding it steady so he moved back, only a enough to check her stance. Not enough to break contact. Taking the underside of the barrel, he tilted it back and forth, “Now you know how to aim but don’t lead your target too much. And don’t get all fancy goin’ for headshots. Aim for the centre mass.”

“Okay.”

“Ammo’s critical. Short bursts only. The rounds’ll bust through anything so be sure of your aim.”

She nodded and her hair smelt sweet.

He tapped the ammo readout, “When the counter reads zero here, you-?”

“I press this up?”

“That’s right.”

She upended the rifle and pulled out the magazine, leaning back into him as she did so, her shoulders brushing against his armour. Again.

“Get another one in quick. Slap it in hard.”

“Right.” She tried but then looked back at him with a frown.

“Yeh, you gotta abuse it a bit,” he leaned in and pulled out the mag easily, “See it’s not locked in?” He gave it back to her, their fingers brushing for the umpteenth time, “Slap it in hard. It’s gotta click.”

With a satisfying _slap_ and _click_ , she got it.

“That’s it. Now you’re ready to rock and roll.”

Her eyes rose along the barrel, “What’s this?”

Hicks hesitated, eyeing the end of the rifle warily, “That’s the grenade launcher. I don’t think you wanna to mess with that.”

Ripley turned to him mock indignation, a wry smile twitching at her lips, “You started this. Show me everything.”

His brow rose and had to swallow against the impulse to say something really stupid. Comfortable with each other was one thing but they really shouldn’t be flirting like this.

Again.

But they were.

“Don’t hold anything back.” Ripley turned back to the gun, and pulled it back into position again for him to check, “I can handle myself.”

Hicks stared at her.  

Ripley looked at him expectantly.

“Yeah, trust me, I’ve noticed,” he finally said with a sly grin then shook his head, still smiling, “Another two times through without any corrections from me. _Then_ we can play with the grenade launcher.”

“Play?”

“Marines and weapons, Ripley,” he explained, trying not to imagine the two of them _playing_ , “It’s all playtime.”

“Marines play with their weapons?”

“Marines _love_ their weapons.”

Her brow rose, “really?’”

He grinned tightly, really wishing he could keep his mouth shut, “Oh man, I’m not touching that one.”

Ripley laughed quietly, bringing the rifle back into position and shook her head, “Your close personal friend - Love at first sight?”

Hicks chuckled, “Not quite. Though I will admit I’m gonna miss my pump-action, twelve-gauge shotgun. Sleek, reliable, beautiful. Goddamn antique.”

She pretended to press the trigger and then hefted the weapon up to pull out the magazine, “Antique’s right. Probably the only thing around here older than I am.”

Hicks chuckled, “Yeah, you know what? I ain’t touching that one either.”

“It’s true though.” Slapping the magazine back in hard, she sobered a little, “Hard to imagine. Almost sixty years and I’m back on this godforsaken planet.”

_‘Why?’_ he wanted to ask. Why the hell would she come back here? But he didn’t. Perhaps it was just too personal.

“Again,” he ordered without taking his gaze from hers. “Quicker. Every heartbeat you’re not shooting your enemy gains ground.”

Ripley pursed her lips but nodded, “Okay. You’re not going to start timing me, are you?”

“We’ll save the strip-down drills for next time.”

She blinked, slight colour touching her cheeks. “The what?” she asked warily.

Hicks shook his head and kept his face smooth. Yeah, he’d asked the same thing the first time too. It wasn’t his fault most of the shit marines said during weapons training sounded like a really cheap, really bad porno. “Anyone who wields a weapon must know it intimately; how to strip-it-down, clean, repair and reassemble. Drills are timed, and don’t stop until you’re under the allotted time.”

“Well?” she challenged, her lips twitching, “show me how to do a _strip-down_.”

He wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to keep a straight face, “Once more, then the grenade launcher. Maybe then we’ll see about a strip-down.” He added more as an afterthought, “but we’ll forgo the blindfold this time.”

“ _Blindfold_?”

“A marine’s gotta be able to do it in the dark.”

Ripley set her position, then picked the rifle and pulled out the mag, then slapped it in with a disgruntled sigh, “Doing it in the dark doesn’t sound fair.”

Hicks gestured up at the ceiling, “And if the lights go out?”

She paused in surprise then nodded, “Then I guess that makes sense. But it must be hard.”

“Uh, well you just gotta be good with your hands.”

She sniggered, trying hard not to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he shook his head incredulously. Seriously, flirting over a weapons brief with untold numbers of xenomorphs banging at their door, could things get any more ridiculous? He tried to put on a serious face, but failed utterly, “Concentrate, Lieutenant. This is important.”

She looked at him and he held up an M-40 grenade. Her serious face was about as convincing as his, “Proceed Corporal.”


End file.
